Hate
by ally.enchantress
Summary: Ruining ten years of everything should have taken a lifetime of preparation and planning. It should not have been possible for one person to cause so much damage. But it was. WARNINGS: Character death, and E/O later.
1. Always

**Hey, everybody! So, I know I've been OOC for a while. It's not my fault, I swear! You wouldn't believe how much homework I'm getting this year! It stinks, man! My math teacher alone gave me 148 problems to do tonight, and I'm skipping out on studying for two tests so I can write this. I know, I'm not very organized or responsible. That's something my father never seems to tire of reminding me. Dad, I'm an irresponsible piece of crap for a child, I know, okay? Suck it up! It's your fault I'm here, so deal with it!**

**Anyway, this is not a flowers-and-butterflies-frolicking-in-meadows fiction. This is actually a rather depressing tale, one I happened to come up with in Art Fundamentals class this morning. Woot! So if you haven't figured this out by now, I'm not a reliable writer. I don't make deadlines, I don't have a schedule, and I don't know when I'll have time to write. So, if you're going to read this one, be prepared for a very unpredictable and volatile series of updates. However long it takes, I will post a notice if I am going to drop this story. So, if you don't get that notice, I'm still writing it. It's just taking a while, okay?**

**Warnings: Character death, mild language!**

**Disclaimer: If this is the story I'm writing, there is no way I'm even coming close to thinking about owning SVU. You will not hear that from me very often. Oh, as an afterthought, I don't own the song lyrics either.**

**Dear Dick Wolf:**

**Please make the SVU premiere air sooner. I would love you forever and ever! Okay, well maybe that's going a little too far, but I would totally be your number one fan. Also, in light of the new TV Guide pictures of something very hot and steamy *fans self*, I think you should instruct all those below you to make the show E/O. Please? Now, see, if you did THAT I would love you forever and ever!**

**Sincerely,**

**______________________________________________________________________________________________________**

I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house; that don't bother me.  
I can take a few tears now and then and just let them out.  
I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while even though going on with you gone still upsets me.  
There are days every now and again I pretend I'm okay, but that's not what gets me.  
~ "What Hurts the Most" Rascal Flatts

_What should her goal be today? Olivia wondered. What could she accomplish? Yesterday, she'd been so very proud of herself. She'd rolled herself out of bed and actually made herself a cup of tea instead of a bottle of water. Then, as if she hadn't already made history, she changed each article of clothing on her person and taken a walk in Central Park. Not only had she changed her clothes, she'd felt the sun on her skin for the first time in weeks, and she'd spent a whole hour outside before her tears started flowing so thick she couldn't see anymore. She had ended up crying in the woods, but it had taken a whole hour. That, she decided, was certainly progress._

_Then again, maybe she didn't want to be making progress. Maybe she didn't want to let go. Letting go, she knew, would mean moving on, forgetting, forgiving. She didn't want to do any of that. She didn't want to move on from everything she lived for. She didn't want to forget the past ten years of her life. She didn't want to forgive the man who destroyed the one thing that made her life worth living. What she really wanted was to sneak into Cragen's office and steal back her Glock so she could shoot the one who took her life away from her. Or she could shoot herself. Either one worked, she decided. What she really wanted was to run and run and run and run and run some more until she collapsed, blistered and bleeding, breathless and sobbing, and then sleep and sleep and never wake up._

_What she really wanted was to barricade herself in her apartment and see how much alcohol it would take to knock her out for three days. However, the day it happened, Cragen had driven her home from the hospital and poured every drop of liquor she possessed, be it beer or wine or vodka or pure vanilla, down the drain. He'd then confiscated the bottles and dropped them in the dumpster outside her apartment on his way out._

_Maybe what she wanted, she thought, was to pull Richard White out of prison, reincarnate Eric Plummer or Victor Gitano, track down one of the many perps who wanted to get revenge on her, and maybe she wanted to spend a few hours with them. Maybe she wanted to, against all appearances, return to Sealview because feeling anything, even the worst pain and fear and anguish imaginable would be better than the nothingness she had become. At least if she felt Richard White demolish her illusion of control, if she felt Victor Gitano slit her throat with his bloody knife, if she felt Lowell Harris beat her against the basement walls and rape her, she would know she was feeling something. Feeling something would be better than feeling nothing at all._

_It was punishment, she was sure. She was being punished for surviving by being deprived of the one thing she needed. She was being deprived of her sensation of feeling. That was why she was doing everything she could to bring back that sense of feeling. The problem was that everything in her power really didn't amount to much when her life, her passion, her determination, her dedication, her hope, her love had been taken from her. She wasn't going to work; she had plenty of leave, and she was taking it all. She had yet to see the inside of a grocery store. Her bedroom had become a shrine of sorts, with pictures and papers and newspaper articles taped to the wall, the ceiling, her bed frame. She was sleeping on her couch. When she received it, her electricity bill would be zero. Her water bill, on the other hand, would skyrocket._

_Every day for maybe an hour or so, Olivia would step into a shower hot enough to boil an egg. She would stand there under the water, scrubbing every available inch of her skin with a towel and the strongest soap she could buy. She lathered her hair with shampoo and conditioner, raked her nails against her scalp to get it all out, and did it again until she saw blood in the water. She watched her skin turn red and burn, and she felt the stinging, searing pain. She felt it. She liked feeling it, so she turned the water hotter and reveled in the realization that her sense of touch was not gone. She could still feel. Even when the pain stopped being enjoyable and started actually making her want to jump out, she didn't move. All her pain she let escape in a hiss. Steam curled around her body, mingling with the water, and she smiled through her tears._

_Laughter bubbled in her gut and evaporated in the heat. It was ridiculous, in her opinion, that she found humor in her self-destructive state._

_As soon as she allowed herself to escape the hell she'd created for herself, soothed her burns with Aloe and his sweater, wrapped her pillow up in a shirt with his scent, and lay down on her couch, she remembered._

_There was indeed a reason she was torturing herself. There was a reason she hadn't been in to work in two weeks. There was a reason her laundry basket was almost empty, though she hadn't done the wash in two weeks. There was a reason she refused to look at herself in the mirror, see the three ropy scars that travelled around her face creating an awkward triangle of sorts._

_One came from her forehead, passed over her left eyebrow, just grazed the thin skin above her eye, and ended at her right cheekbone._

_One disfigured the skin from her right ear to her chin._

_The last hit the corner of her left eye and the left side of her lip._

_They were still healing, and they made smiling impossible. Not that she really wanted to smile. Even if she did, she wouldn't get rid of them. They were mementos, like the thin scar on her neck, and they were there to remind her, always, of what happened when you dropped your guard. Yes, there was a reason for all of that._

_It was Olivia's fault that Elliot was dead._

*** * ***

Flashback

**SVU Squad Room – Wednesday, November 15**

His blue eyes were boring a hole in her forehead. She felt them, and a small smile graced her lips. His attention made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and she relished in that sensation because it was one she did not get to feel very often. Well, perhaps that was not entirely true. She felt it every time he looked at her like that, intense and scrutinizing, as though he was peering through her skin into her heart and soul. It was actually more often than not that he did that.

Many times, when there was absolutely nothing to do except sit and think, since catching up on paperwork wasn't an option, Olivia stared right back at him. Staring contests generally ensued, each grumbling under their breath, trying to make the other laugh, snapping their fingers, kicking, anything to win. They were such cheaters, and they both liked it that way. As Elliot put it, games and contests were more fun when they were both cheating. The outcome, whatever they might predict, was more of a surprise. Other times, though, when she decided to be the good child and do her work, she wondered what Elliot was seeing in her heart. More importantly, she wondered if he was pleased with what he saw.

Today he probably didn't, mostly because she had gotten absolutely no sleep last night after her nightmare, depicting her, Elliot, and Gitano back in that warehouse. This time, though, she'd taken the shot. She watched Elliot fall to the ground like a rag doll with its strings cut, and then Gitano turned into Alex's face, and there was a bullet hole in her shoulder. As Olivia bent down in tears to stem the flow, Alex became Lowell Harris. He reached out for her and, with nails like sabers, gouged into her face. Holding her face and screaming in agony, she turned back to Elliot. Her blood mingled with his and, as his eyes fluttered shut, she felt a knife pierce her heart.

The sun could not have risen fast enough.

It was a slow day at the 16th precinct, and Olivia and Elliot were taking advantage of the rapists' apparent vacation by using the time to compete in an all-cheating-allowed Solitaire tournament. Munch and Fin, watching, weren't exactly sure how you could cheat at an online card game, but both Olivia and Elliot seemed to be managing to do exactly that.

They'd played a total of thirty-one hands, razzing each other like street ballplayers, antagonizing and criticizing in between laughter. Olivia lost, not very gallantly, and watched her partner doing a little victory dance in his chair. His sole aim was to infuriate her, but she just couldn't stay ad at him. He was just so cute dancing around in his swivel chair like a child, and she could not get mad. It did not work.

She loved it when he acted like a kid. Rare and far in between, those instances gave her a chance to see the adorable little boy he used to be. There were times when she wished she could turn back the clock and watch Elliot the kid as a carrot for the Thanksgiving play, building sand castles with his wonderful mother, trying to avoid his homework. Sometimes, she even wondered what it would have been like to be in the car with him and Bernadette on the day she chased a snowflake into a lamppost. To hear his sweet little voice, even in fear, screaming, _"Stop, Mommy, stop"_ would have been some sort of insight into his childhood.

She would have saved him, she promised herself. If she ever managed to go back in time, she would keep his arm from breaking. She would wrap him up in a protective embrace and let every bone in her body shatter before his perfect little arm suffered so much as a scratch.

As long as Elliot was safe and happy, she didn't care what happened to her.

From the safety of his dark sunglasses, Munch watched his coworkers play. It was such a welcome change from all their arguing, he acquiesced, smirking when Olivia hit her partner in the head with an eraser. He could swear the temperature of the squad room went up ten degrees now that they weren't fighting. Something about them, their friendship, their choreographed movement, their odd connection, controlled the atmosphere, the temperature, and the mood of the 16th precinct. When they were happy, everyone else seemed to have a little extra bounce in their step. When they were boiling mad, Munch almost felt like he could reach out a hand and catch raindrops from the storm clouds looming overhead.

"Olivia, Elliot!" Cragen shouted, leaning out of his office with the phone cradled in the crook of his shoulder and neck, holding it to his ear. "You've got a case." He directed a glare their way that told them their conduct in the office left a lot to be desired and to get out before he got off the phone and made a valiant attempt to rip them a new one.

In all honesty, Olivia had missed that look. When she and Elliot were all tense and mad at each other, they never gave Cragen a reason to tell them off for messing around. Instead, they got to hear about how they would both be getting new partners if they couldn't get along. She knew why Elliot was mad at her, even now when they'd agreed to let bygones be bygones. He was mad at her for leaving him, not once but twice, and for running away from him instead of being brave enough to work it out with him.

However, she also knew why she was mad at him. And she knew that the heart-to-heart they'd had about forgetting the bad things they'd done and doing everybody a favor by being best friends again was just words. He'd told her to do just what she did, he'd told her they couldn't be partners anymore, and he was making it out to be all her fault. And, he'd never been there for her when she needed him. He wasn't by her side, comforting her, telling her Sealview wasn't her fault, that Lauren Cooper made her own choices, that she did the right thing when she went to the therapist for her PTSD, that he forgave her for agreeing to go to dinner with Dick Finley and getting him shot during the Bushido case. She wanted so badly to know he was there for her and, so far, that wasn't the vibe she was getting.

Elliot, who had been making Olivia laugh by spinning around and around him his chair, slowed to a stop with a martyred look on his face that made Olivia laugh even harder. The pair stood, and three interested detectives watched as Elliot stumbled around like a drunk, trying to find his equilibrium.

Fin observed from his desk, laughing to himself and feeling lighter than he had in three years. He missed this easy teasing and friendship between Elliot and Olivia. It made the atmosphere more peaceful, and it definitely made Olivia happier. After about two years of pain from Sealview and a lifetime of hurt, it was wonderful to see her smiling and laughing again. She certainly deserved to be happy. She deserved a smile on her face, a lightness in her heart, happiness in her features, and love in her life. And, if Elliot gave her that, then Fin was prepared to call it even.

**Battery Park – Thursday, November 15**

"Did you guys eat before you came?" Melinda asked.

Olivia and Elliot ducked under the crime scene tape, stomachs grumbling unhappily. "No," Elliot admitted, already regretting his suggestion of another Solitaire game over lunch. "Why?"

Their question was answered a moment later, when they came across the first spattering of blood.

"Oh," Olivia said…

"My," continued Elliot…

"God," they finished simultaneously. Amid what looked to be every drop of blood in the human body, there lay a blonde woman, covered daintily by a pristine, immaculately monochromatic doctor's coat that was glistening red. A steady drip…drip…drip of scarlet liquid came from the blood-soaked fabric. It was draped over the woman like a cloak, and only the face could be seen. The rest of her body appeared oddly misshapen.

Access to the body, it appeared, could only be achieved through the process of hopping from one spot of wooden pier to another, so that was what the pair proceeded to do. There was no doubt about it. Of the approximate four pints of blood in the woman's body, there was probably about three point five pints covering the wooden planks. The rest was saturating the coat.

Stunned, Olivia managed to make her way to Melinda before freezing with disgust. "There…there can't be any blood left in her body," she said faintly.

Melinda shook her head. "Some of it," she replied in a hard tone, "is still in the facial lacerations."

Sure enough, with the face much closer, Olivia and Elliot could both see the long, ropy gashes marring the woman's features.

"So I'm guessing we don't have any ID?"

"Actually, we do. She had her wallet in her pocket. It was stained, but I did find a name and occupation. Her name is Kira Thorton, and she is a surgeon at Mercy General Hospital."

"Dr. Kira Thorton?" Olivia asked.

Both Melinda and Elliot frowned. "Yes. Did you know her?"

Olivia's gaze rested on Elliot, a strange expression in her eye. "She was the head surgeon who worked on you when you got shot," she told him. Elliot raised his eyebrows and looked at the dead woman with new light in his eyes.

"Where did all the blood come from?" he asked, swallowing his emotions and finding his impassiveness. "How did the perp get it all out?"

In answer, Melinda crouched and peeled back the fabric. The answer for the misshapen body became immediately apparent. The woman's arms were pinned in front of her, secured at the wrists and pinned to her body with iron shackles. Chains wound their way around her body, capturing her legs in a similar fashion, bound at the ankles. The restraints were nothing like the modern handcuffs the two detectives carried at their waists. No, these things were heavy, thick, and rusty. They looked like chains that could have been used to hold slaves during the Civil War era. With the coat gone, they could all see now that their victim was actually rather tall, rivaling Olivia in height, and, despite that height, she was abnormally slender. Her clothes, though blood-soaked, wrapped around her frame with plenty of give. Her arms were muscular, but they were still slim, and the shackles dwarfed her tiny wrists. How had they not slid off?

Bending down for closer inspection, Olivia slipped on gloves so she could gently touch the old iron. She lifted Kira's left hand, trying not to notice the golden wedding ring on her finger and ignoring the clinking of the chains. The restraints had been pounded into shape, she discovered, probably by an anvil or something similar, with enough force to shatter the bones in her wrist. She could see shards of white protruding from the skin.

"My God," Olivia said again, gently placing Kira's hand where it was in her final breath and resting her own elbows on her knees. "He broke her bones getting the iron to stay in place. He definitely wanted her to suffer."

Her partner nodded solemnly. "Would you say it's personal?"

"Definitely," she and Melinda said in unison.

"It's personal," Olivia detailed the statement, "or there's some crazy guy roaming the streets. Look." One slim, latex-covered finger traced a gash in Kira's shirt. "He didn't just cut her face, he took that knife to her whole body."

She straightened up and looked at the dead woman at her feet. The sea breeze lifted her hair, tangling it with Melinda's and tickling Elliot's neck. "They wanted her to suffer," she said, "and they wanted her helpless. Those chains weren't an afterthought. He wanted a slave."

**______________________________________________________________________________________________________**

**You know what? Don't even start yelling at me because Olivia's self-destructive and depressed and Elliot died. I told you at the beginning that there was going to be a character death in this story, and you decided to read it anyway. Yes, I am going to go through the case in chronological order now. This is kind of a messed up structure. You've got the ending, and you've got the beginning, and you're just waiting on the middle now. Well, so am I! *smiles brightly* If you want my inspiration, listen to "What Hurts the Most" by Rascal Flatts. Twitter people, I even posted parts of those lyrics! Nobody caught it!**

**Please review! If you remember my "Garden of Eden" story you will remember that I pretend to be Olivia and you guys give me donuts by reviewing!!!! To all you new people, look at it this way: review=donut. Therefore, review! I'm hungry!!!!**

**God bless!**


	2. Because

**Hello, everybody! Yes, I have decided to continue this story! I have writer's block at the moment, so hopefully this chapter turns out better than my book is. You know the problem with writing in a notebook and copying it down on the computer? There's always something you want to change, and then those changes start to add up until you've got what appears to be two entirely different tales about the same thing. I started to wonder if I was copywriting myself!**

**Anyway, I've been writing excerpts, which would explain, though not excuse, the tardiness of this chapter. So, hopefully if I keep writing excerpts, I'll meet up in the middle eventually! Oh, and I have decided to make this story EO. Having defended my position on Twitter countless times, I do believe I can write some kisses into this thing at long last. So, there you have it! I admit to my shipper-ness! One more thing! The quote that should be at the beginning of every chapter henceforth will not necessarily have anything at all to do with the story. Just to avoid any confusion.**

**Disclaimer: Dear Dick Wolf, if you never ever let this story happen on the show, I will not beg for the rights to it. I don't want it if this is what would happen. Sincerely, ally.**

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"_While we're there, remind me to get party tape for the twins' birthday party. I don't want to have to use crime scene tape." ~Elliot Stabler, episode Countdown._

* * *

**SVU Squad Room – Tuesday, November 15**

Footsteps clued Munch and Fin in to the return of their coworkers. Two sets of footsteps could be heard. More accurately, two sets of footsteps pounding out the same distinct rhythm could be heard, and that was how they figured out they were hearing Elliot and Olivia. Even with years of mocking attempts, no pair of detectives could manage to achieve the same flawless symmetry in their pace as those two. There was always a misstep, a stumble, a slight irregularity, something to break the perfection.

Unique was probably a good word to describe Elliot and Olivia. They were so different from each other, like water was from dry earth, and yet they were both about as alike as was possible at the same time. Perhaps the best word would be more along the lines of mutually inclusive. One could not exist without the other, however opposite they might be.

Heat from his shoulder was coursing through Olivia's entire arm, lighting a fire under her skin. They were in sync again. She hadn't even noticed the change, but suddenly it seemed so obvious. How had she missed it? Maybe it was the absolute sense of rightness she felt. One didn't notice the ease, the perfection of a situation, a circumstance, and interaction until after it was already set in motion. She felt like she was sliding back into place, like she and Elliot were two pieces of a very screwed up puzzle, and they were finally fitting into their places. That might have been why she never noticed it. You didn't notice the perfection with which a puzzle fits together until it's already complete.

She matched his stride with exceptional grace, even though he was slightly taller. Despite her heeled boots that clacked against the floor with authority and power and strength, Elliot still managed to see over her head. How, he wasn't sure. She always seemed so much taller than him, especially when she was in control. When she took control of the situation and relayed orders, the sense of supremacy and force ringing in every facet of her diamond-studded tone, she seemed to grow not inches but feet taller. He always admired her aptitude at appearing in control all the time and getting others to obey her command. In this way, they were the perfect example of a monarchy. She was the fearless leader, and he was the stability she needed to continue her reign.

Munch and Fin both saw them the second they walked into the squad room. They weren't hand in hand, but they might as well be for the brightness of their glowing faces.

A loud whoop reached their ears as Munch hollered, "Hey, the dream team is back!"

Drawn by the sound, Cragen emerged from his office like a turtle from its shell and gave his team a quick once-over, reassuring himself as he often did that they were alright.

"Report in," he ordered. "What happened?"

Their demeanor altered dramatically. Cragen, Munch, and Fin watched with curiosity and worry as Olivia bit her lip and ran her fingers through her hair, a heavy sigh escaping in a rush of air from her mouth. Elliot pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. The atmosphere around them thickened and sent shivers rippling down their spines.

Elliot and Olivia looked at each other, each wanting the other to speak first. Finally, with a look of resignation, Elliot began to speak.

"White female, early forties, dead on the pier of Battery Park. There weren't blood spatters, there was one big puddle of what looked like about three and a half pints of it. Her name and occupation, Kira Thorton, surgeon at Mercy General, were found on her hospital ID."

"The original crime scene," Olivia took over, finding pity for her partner, "displayed her with a doctor's coat draped over her body. However, we moved the coat to see what our perp did to the rest of her, and she was heavily bound with chains. They didn't look new, either. If I had to guess, I'd say Civil War era."

"Heavily bound in what way?" Munch asked. "In the spider web way?"

"Slave," Elliot answered shortly.

Fin tensed instinctively, the old wounds of his grandparents threatening to reopen. "This some Civil War thing gone wrong?" Even he could hear the muffled disgust in his voice.

Pity threatened to flood Olivia's eyes, but she held it in check. There was no way Fin would take kindly to such a gesture. Still, she worried. A white woman was bound in chains like a slave from the 1800s, murdered violently and passionately, displayed in a weakened position as though she were a lesser life form or the dirt on the bottom of this perp's shoes. Questions listed themselves off, swirling through her mind and sending her down a wild train of thought that she didn't particularly want to explore. She wanted to know who this guy was, and she wanted to know what was going on in his sick, twisted mind.

"What are we thinking on this one?" inquired their captain. His eyes flickered from one detective to another, gauging their reactions.

The surreptitious glance between Olivia and Elliot was not lost on anyone.

_What are you thinking?_

_He didn't get off on the torture, El._

_I know. He got off on the servitude._

_She was a slave._

Both knew they were thinking the same thing. They just didn't want to say it. They didn't want to say it at all.

"Elliot, Olivia!" Cragen frowned at them, shaming them with his eyes. "If you have a theory, please share it."

They locked eyes again. "Well, what if…" Olivia began…

"The perp was looking for revenge…" continued Elliot…

"Against whites, because of their treatment of blacks…"

"During the Civil War."

There was silence.

Finally, Cragen spoke up. "A hate crime?"

"Against white people?" Fin put in. "You serious?"

"That's the way it looked," Olivia defended herself and her partner. "If it were torture, he wouldn't leave his toys behind, and he probably would have used more modern restraints. It fits!"

Munch nodded slowly, clarity fading into perspective. "So some African American decides to pay today's white people back for the slavery their grandparents did."

"If this is a hate crime, we'll need more proof than one dead woman in chains. It won't hold up in court." Cragen was in captain mode, working out the situation from the skeptical view, wanting the best possible case to put whoever was responsible behind bars. "So, until we can say with absolute certainty it's a hate crime, work it as a rape homicide and see what comes out of it. Keep your eyes open, but don't go paranoid on me"— he eyed Munch meaningfully – "and forget your other options."

Recognizing closure when they saw it, the detectives went back to their respective desks. Olivia looked at Elliot. "Do you think anybody was in the park to see it?" she asked. Surely there was one stray runner or dog-walker who remembered something suspicious.

Elliot frowned. "You want us to sit outside tomorrow morning and ask everybody there if they saw anything, is that it?"

Big, brown eyes did nothing but stare at him.

How did she do that? Elliot wondered, trying and failing to avoid her piercing attention. One look at her and he felt his willpower begin to crumble. In an effort to hide from his partner's silent pleas, he started typing up his DD5 but, as his fingers clacked against the keyboard, he felt her stare boring into him, drilling holes in his head to find his willpower and demolish it. _Don't look, don't look, don't look…_

He looked at her and winced, feeling the drill bite through his stubbornness. _Darn it._

Olivia smirked, sensing weakness, and intensified her gaze. "Come on, El," she said softly. "Please?"

"Fine." Elliot glared at her. "We'll go back tomorrow and see if anybody saw anything. Okay?"

Olivia shrugged. "Fine with me," she said, as if it had been his idea all along. That was another thing Elliot disliked: This strange ability to make him feel like a complete and utter idiot when she was the one who brought on his words every single time. Something told him she knew exactly what she did to him, and she liked it that way.

* * *

**Mercy General Hospital – Tuesday, November 15**

Because Elliot was the lead detective, Olivia was his partner, and Cragen was their captain, Munch and Fin were put on the bottom of the command chain. So, when Olivia, via Elliot, requested that they please ask around at the hospital while she and her partner went to inform the parents, they went.

At the moment, they were wandering the halls, trying to find a nurse who could direct them to Kira's colleagues.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" A motherly-looking woman with gray hair and a kind smile appeared suddenly beside them. "Are you lost?"

Fin stepped in before Munch could offend this next assistant. "Ma'am, I'm Detective Tutuola, this is Detective Munch. We're here about Dr. Kira Thorton, she was a surgeon here…"

"Oh, I know! We all know Kira. She's a sweetheart, and a wonderful doctor." Light filled this woman's eyes as she began to feverishly describe Kira Thorton in every aspect imaginable, until she finally slowed down and said, "I'm Nurse Whineman, by the way."

"Ms. Whineman, Dr. Thorton died this morning. We're sorry for your loss," Fin told her, still not trusting Munch to remain inoffensive.

Nurse Whineman's face crumpled as the implications of this hit her. From her reaction, it was clear that she had known Kira on a personal level of some sort. "She was a sweetheart, Kira was," she reiterated. "Why would anyone want to hurt her?"

"Well," Munch finally managed to get in, "that's what we wanted to ask you. Can you think of anyone who might have had a grudge against her? Anyone who would have reason to be mad at her?"

Worry and denial befuddled her features as she shook her head and then stopped, cocked her head, and slowly nodded. "I guess…she got a promotion a few weeks ago, a pay raise, and a lot of people resented her for it. They all wanted it…Oh, but nobody would go so far as to kill her! They're all nice people, such wonderful people." She nodded faster, reinforcing her thoughts, convincing herself as much as the detectives questioning her.

"Ms. Whineman, we need to know the names of anyone who might have been upset at the promotion."

She nodded slowly. "There was...well, Delonte Kingsley, I suppose. He was a little upset, poor dear, but I could never imagine him doing anything like this."

"Okay, we'll need to talk to him," Fin said, jotting down some rendition of how the name sounded. They had a name. That was a start.

* * *

**Miravelle Residence – Tuesday, November 15**

Clouds were rolling in, obscuring the sunlight and encasing the world in shadow, matching her mood perfectly. Olivia hated these jobs. She hated them with a fiery passion. Telling parents their children were dead was never an exciting prospect, but the dismay only worsened when one had to tell parents their child had been brutally raped, tortured, and murdered. And yet, she and Elliot were the ones with the self-delegated responsibility of doing exactly that while Fin and Munch probed around in the hospital.

She glanced at her partner. Cool, collected, and displaying no signs of inner turmoil, Olivia was satisfied that Elliot was not attempting to hide anything from her. She performed this analysis more times than she cared to admit, just as a reassurance that they were still okay. After the Sennet case, when they made up on the stoop of Elliot's porch, she'd asked if they were okay, and she realized that he'd never actually answered with a yes or no. He had instead replied, _I just need space to disagree with you without feeling like it's going to cost our partnership._ Olivia had commented on how he'd never been gun shy before, to which he'd said, _well, things change._ Never had Olivia really questioned that his answer, which really hadn't been an answer at all, meant yes, they were okay. However, after Darius Parker nearly destroyed all of their lives and got her suspended, she'd found the time to think about it.

Were they okay? She'd discovered, after reliving that precious scene time after time after time, that she couldn't tell if they were okay or not. According to his body language, he had forgiven her. The fact that he never told her this, however, was contradictory. She worried terribly that something she had done, namely going undercover in Oregon with the Feds, had made him incapable of forgiving her, had made them incapable of being okay. She'd never really talked to him about Oregon, how she'd missed him so terribly she'd seen his face taunting her in the Burger King window, biting into a Whopper and laughing when her traitorous stomach growled.

Maybe she should open up to him a little more. If there was one thing these past few years had taught her, it was that nothing in life was set in stone. A single person could alter entire worlds, a sex crimes detective could be raped, and a former ballet dancer could murder every one of her five husbands without batting a perfect eyelash. What would happen if something changed so dramatically in her life that she never got to tell her partner the most important thing she needed to say, the most important thing he needed to hear?

_Ding dong._

Elliot had never really been fond of the doorbell sound. In his opinion, it was too annoying, too mundane, and too stereotypical to be of much use. _Ding dong, doorbell,_ was what Lizzie used to say as her little feet carried her away from whatever she was doing at the time to stretch for the handle, open the door, and say to whoever was waiting, _hi, there! My name's Lizzie, and I'm four!_ Elliot smiled at the memory as it brought up another one.

The first time Olivia had come to see him in Queens had been after their encounter with Richard White. She'd assumed, rightly so, that Elliot would be padlocking his doors and boarding up his windows after what White had said in interrogation. _Detective Stabler,_ the words still rang in his ears, even today, _how are Kathy and the kids?_ The entire family had been watching TV together after dinner, which Elliot had managed to be on time for, when the doorbell rang. Right on cue, despite Elliot's anxious protests, Lizzie had jumped off her daddy's lap and run straight for the front door. She was older then, but she still carried that child's tendency. With every scenario even remotely related to White running through his head, Elliot had followed. He heard his youngest daughter's sweet voice saying, _Hi, there! My name's Lizzie! What's yours?_ And then he'd heard the voice that halted him in his tracks, chasing away all his fears.

_Hi, Lizzie, it's nice to meet you. My name's Olivia. Is your daddy here?_

Elliot had come into view to see his beautiful partner, crouched down so she could see eye-to-eye with Elizabeth, smiling like the Cheshire cat at the little girl. That was still one of Elliot's favorite memories of Olivia, and it had been one of the few times that the _ding dong_ of the doorbell had not bothered him in the least.

This doorbell marked the entrance of a thin, eccentric-looking woman with snow-white hair framing her face, wrinkled with laugh lines. Deep blue eyes stood out against pale skin. She wore no makeup, but both Olivia and Elliot could see traces of what once must have been a lovely young woman. Funny how, even with age, the beauty that once was never ever seemed to vanish completely. It just moved on, sunk in, and faded until all that was left were the faint echoes of used to be.

"Yes?" she said, a smile that had seen many ages gracing her wise mouth. "May I help you?"

Olivia took the lead. "Mrs. Miravelle?"

"I'm sorry, have we met?" Kira's mother seemed to know perfectly well that they never had.

Shaking her head, Olivia introduced herself and her partner and then proceeded to say the words no parent ever wanted to hear. "Ma'am, I'm terribly sorry... Your daughter Kira is dead."

They watched in mingling pity and guilt as the woman before them broke. She did not cry; she seemed to be trying very hard not to. Instead, the light that had been in her eyes, in her welcoming smile, flickered and died, and her age seemed to crash into her, weighing her down now for the first time. There was no denial, there was no anger, and there was no plea for mercy. This was grief, pure and simple, where tears held no more power than words of comfort and consolation. Olivia and Elliot simultaneously looked away, averting their eyes from such raw vulnerability and openness.

"How?" she asked, fixing the detectives with lost, empty eyes. "How did it happen?"

"She…" Olivia rarely came across a mother who expressed her anguish through an outlet other than tears. "She was murdered."

Kira's mother nodded slowly. "Never," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "No mother should outlive her child." Elliot and Olivia closed their eyes, and she looked at them. "Please come in, detectives," she requested.

They entered.

The house was quaint, nothing special, but it had a certain homey feel to it that exuded from its occupant and perfumed the air. The ceiling was low, and Olivia imagined as she ducked under a doorframe that Kira must have had a hard time moving freely from room to room. In direct contrast, she noticed then, the living room was rather tall. She and Elliot could both stretch their arms all the way up and not touch the dome covering their heads. It was impressive, Olivia thought, and unexpected.

"How…how can I help?" she asked.

Suddenly, thunder boomed overhead, causing all three to jump. The weather forecast Elliot had turned on that morning had said there would be storms, but he hadn't expected them to hit so abruptly. Olivia didn't look surprised when he glanced over at her, but very rarely did anything faze her. She liked her control too much to not know what was going on in the resentfully uncontrollable aspects of her life.

"Was there anyone who may have had reason to resent Kira? Maybe she told you about someone harassing her, bothering her…" Olivia sincerely hoped that this woman would give them some sort of lead.

Mrs. Miravelle thought for a moment, biting her lower lip, the blank, lost look never leaving her eyes. "Well," she said finally, "she called me sometimes about a man at her work…Delonte, maybe? She said he kept asking her about different aspects of her job…the pay, the benefits, stuff like that… She said he confronted her in the hospital after her promotion, asked her if she thought she was better than him because she was white."

"Did she report it?"

"No, he was never violent with her, just very straightforward about his opinions. Besides," she added, "Kira is a forgiving woman, very passive. She likes to solve what she can by herself and let the rest go."

Olivia and Elliot tried to ignore the present tense Mrs. Miravelle was speaking in. "Thank you, Mrs. Miravelle," Olivia said as Elliot answered his vibrating phone. "If you remember anything else, please call me." She passed the woman her business card.

"Thank you, detective," Mrs. Miravelle said, pocketing the card. The vacant look had escalated, making her look like she was not entirely present.

"Okay, thanks, John." Elliot snapped his phone shut. "Mrs. Miravelle," he said, "was the man Kira told you about named Delonte Kingsley?"

Still lost in her daze, she nodded carefully. "Yes," she replied faintly, "yes, I believe he was."

They decided to leave her to her grief. Closing the front door carefully, Elliot and Olivia stood together on the porch stoop, staring at the car that seemed just a little too far away. Rain poured down from the sky, running off the roof in rivulets.

The side of his mouth twitched. "My kids and I used to do this all the time," he told her. "We'd get caught in the rain at an amusement park or something and we'd count to three and make a break for it."

She cocked her head thoughtfully. "One…" she said, "two…"

"Three!"

The pair of them pounded down the steps and across the yard to Elliot's car, each racing for the driver's side, which was closest. Elliot got there first, and Olivia had to run all the way around to the passenger side. When she slammed the door shut, her hair was dripping wet, and the intensified smell of her shampoo wafted in Elliot's direction. Involuntarily, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, enjoying the sweet scent. Olivia shook her head, sending drops of water at her partner, and slouched unhappily against the seat.

"So, how did you know this Delonte person's last name?" she asked as he drove.

Focused on the road, Elliot didn't glance at her when he answered. "According to a nurse at the hospital, a man named Delonte Kingsley was rather resentful about our vic's recent promotion."

"That's two times now that we've heard about this promotion thing," Olivia mused, twisting her hair over her lap to get some of the water out. Elliot watched the drops form dark splotches on her already dark jeans. "What do you say we find out just how important it was?"

**____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________**

**End of chapter two! Wow, I thought I was never going to get over that writer's block! I managed! Yippee!!! So, here's the thing. This story is going to be, I think, a sort of indirect tribute to Elliot Stabler, which is why I've got the Stabler quote up above. Now, I know everybody has at least one favorite El quote, so hit me up with it! I'll probably use it!**

**Come on, review! Press that pretty green button. *does Vana White impression* You know you want to!**

**All the best and God bless!**

**~ally**

**P.S. I sincerely apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I had it finished weeks ago, I swear, but my computer decided to go haywire and not let me update anything. The next chapter will be faster. I swear it! 3**


	3. Conflagration

**You have every right to call me, ONCE, a cold-hearted…[insert appropriate word here] for the late update.**

**Disclaimer: Fortunately, the characters of SVU do not belong to me. If this is how an episode would go, then I don't want them. I was told that El and Liv could sing me to sleep tonight if I didn't ask for them. Yay!**

* * *

**Hospital Room of Olivia Benson – January 29**

_A second knock on her door actually caused a reaction from her. She'd thought he would leave after she ignored his first visit, but apparently his conscience wouldn't be happy unless he bugged her a second time. Insistent pounding hammered its way into her head, and, finally, she couldn't take it anymore. Painstakingly, she uncurled her legs from her fetal position and padded softly, forlornly, to the door and let him in. His short, dark hair was wet from the rain at her window, but no sight could make her heart beat faster. Even if she didn't want to see him, she still realized that she'd missed him._

_He didn't say anything, and she didn't probe him. He seemed to sense that she was at the very end of her fuse and granting him a leniency worth much gold by letting him come in. She spared him one glance, one unfathomable glance, before returning to her position on the couch and her confused, humbled thoughts about anything and everything. Focusing on what she could have done differently in the vital last seconds of the case. Was there another path that would not have resulted in shooting Eric Plummer?_

_Elliot crossed to the other side of Olivia's couch and sat down, rocking her gently at the weight addition. He knew enough to remain silent while his partner though. It wasn't that he wanted her to beat herself up. It wasn't that he wanted her to drown herself in indecision. IT was that she would kick him out of her apartment if he did_

_Perhaps a whole hour later, Olivia broke the silence with a deep sigh. She straightened her legs slightly and tried to bury herself in the back of the couch. She looked utterly exhausted. Elliot thought he could see a tear glistening on her olive-toned cheek._

_He stretched out his finger and caught the drop before it fell. Bringing it back to his eyes, he examined the tear that sparkled on his skin. It was unremarkable in concept, a single teardrop in response to emotion, but the fact that if represented the depth of Olivia's distress…that was what got him. This case had made his unshakable partner cry._

"_Don't cry," he whispered, wiping the tear on his shirt. "It's okay." He recognized the juvenile, helpless not in his voice, but he honestly did not know how to comfort a crying Olivia._

_She shook her head. "No, it's not." Brown eyes locked with his and revealed her emotions better than her words ever could._

_And then Elliot realized just how far she had travelled into sadness and confusion. She said, "I don't know what to think, El. I don't know what to do."_

_That she was admitting the knotted, tangled state of her mind was painful, an undesired wake-up call for him. She was hurting._

_He wanted to hug her, to comfort her and say everything was okay, but that wasn't what they did. She knew that was his thought process, and she was grateful to him for not touching her. She did not want to be touched._

_Comfort, however, was coming for her. She waited for it, braced for it to strike._

"_Liv, I'm not going to say everything's alright, because I can see you're upset, so everything is not alright." So far, he was surprising her. And it was this surprise, more than anything else, which kept her listening. "But," he continued, "you have to know that Eric Plummer's decision wasn't something you could have known beforehand."_

"_I know that, El," she said softly, meeting his eyes for the first time. "I know he made his own decisions, but I killed him." Her brown eyes filled with tears that she brushed away angrily. She was begging him to understand, to sympathize, to know why she was so distraught. "I took his life! I shot him, Elliot, and he wasn't even going to hurt anyone!"_

_Elliot shook his head. "That's not true," he told her. "He had a gun to the woman; he was hurting her as it was. You did what you're trained to do, Liv. You thought he was going to shoot, so you shot first. There was no way you could have known it wasn't loaded."_

_Lost in a daze, she stared at him. "What I'm trained to do?"_

"_Yes."_

"_What they taught us in the academy? In the field?"_

"_Yes."_

"_No." She shook her head. "They don't teach us to be murderers."_

_Saying that she was a murderer really made it real. Olivia sincerely hoped that Elliot wouldn't interrupt because, now that she'd started, she really wanted to finish. "I've killed people, El, twice now. I shot them. I…" she struggled for a moment and continued, "they didn't have to die, did they?"_

_Not that she was expecting an answer. She got one anyway because Elliot just couldn't stay quiet to let her beat herself up any further. "You're not a murderer, Olivia," he said. "There is a difference between killing someone and being a murderer."_

_She snorted "There is?"_

_Elliot nodded. "If a nurse pulls the plug on a comatose patient, is that murder?"_

"_Was the patient ever going to wake up?" she asked._

"_Was Eric Plummer's gun loaded?" he countered._

_Olivia frowned. "You know it wasn't."_

"_Well," Eliot said slowly, "how would the nurse know if the patient was going to wake up?"_

"_She wouldn't. She can't."_

"_Then how could you have known that Eric's gun was empty?"_

_Had he been planning that all along, Olivia wondered, or was he improvising as he spoke? She wasn't sure, but she didn't think he'd entered her apartment with the intention of comparing her to a nurse. But either way, it did seem to help a little. Her heart felt slightly lighter as, even in her insistence upon feeling the guilt and confusion she felt she deserved, she realized that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't her fault. Maybe, just maybe, Eric Plummer's death really had been inevitable. Maybe, just maybe, she had done the right thing._

_Elliot's eyes followed her as she stood, almost in a daze, walked into her kitchen, and flipped on the light. She felt them on her back. When she turned, finally, to meet them, the intensity of the blue nearly knocked her off her feet._

_* * *_

_Sitting in the chair next to Olivia's hospital bed, Fin watched as the machine monitoring her brain waves spiked. She was having a dream, it seemed. And, from the expression on the face Fin could not really see, it appeared that she was having a good one. At least, he hoped so, because the nightmare she had escaped from was something that should not have to be recreated, even within the parameters of her mind._

**SVU Squad Room – Tuesday, November 15**

According to the secretary of his secretary, the chief of staff at Mercy Hospital was too busy for a visit from lowly detectives Stabler and Benson right now. So, they returned to the squad room, promising to come back at a later time, which probably would be after the rush hour had died down a bit. The chief of staff worked until eight thirty, and his secretary's secretary had promised that he would wait.

In the meantime, the detectives had decided to get something – they weren't sure what yet, but something – done.

"Did Warner find anything in the rape kit?" Cragen asked.

Elliot and Olivia shared a glance. "I don't know," she said. "Let's go ask her."

"No need," came the medical examiner's strong voice. "She's already here."

All eyes turned to the black woman, who had entered the squad room holding a file folder in her hands. "Please tell me you got something," Elliot said.

Melinda nodded. "I've got something, alright, I just don't know if it's what you're looking for."

"DNA?"

"None. No skin under the fingernails, no fluids in the body, however torn up it was." She stuck the X-rays she had taken up on the board. "Broken wrists…" she pointed to one picture. "Nose…" another "and a fractured skull." She continued, "Her body was bruised, beaten, and covered in lacerations, the most severe of which were the three on her face. She was stabbed once in the heart."

A frown crossed Olivia's face. "How did the perp get her blood all over the pier? Blood spatter is one thing, but that was ridiculous."

"Judging from the calculated way the bodily lacerations were inflicted," Melinda said, "your perp collected the victim's blood, probably in beakers." She pointed to the external photos she took, close-ups of the cuts.

"So we're looking for Bill Nye the Science Guy," Munch said.

Melinda shrugged. "Probably, but you can get these off the internet for two or three dollars, some of them. Now the knife… The knife was another story. Well, more like knives. A scalpel was used on her face. The gashes on her body and the stab to her heart were most likely committed by a general surgery blade, and from the form of the cuts, I'd say you're looking for a shape S."

Munch, Olivia, Elliot, and Cragen frowned uncomprehendingly, but Fin stepped in before Melinda could. "A shape S blade's used for general surgery. Looks like a kitchen knife but sharper."

Cocking his head, Munch said, "And you know this how?"

"I said before," Fin shrugged, "I just know stuff."

Olivia winced. "Painful," she commented, for lack of anything else to say.

Thankfully, Elliot found something. "So, we've got a scalpel…a surgery blade… That would indicate a surgeon."

"I think it's time to see if that head of hospital," Olivia said. "Let's find out how important this promotion really was."

*** * ***

**Mercy General Hospital – Tuesday, November 15**

"Ten minutes, detectives," Dr. Richard Ashe, Mercy Hospital chief of staff stated. "I genuinely regret Dr. Thorton's death, but I have so many other patients, doctors, and meetings to attend to. Everything in my power will be done to find the culprit, but you must understand; life goes on."

Olivia nodded. "We understand, Dr. Ashe. We wanted to ask about the promotion Dr. Thorton received two weeks before her death. What exactly did it entail?"

"Uh…a generous pay raise, commendations…but I think the title chief surgeon would have been a harder hit to some of the other doctors," said Ashe.

"Chief surgeon?" Olivia raised her eyebrows. "How did she get that?"

Ashe settled himself back in his chair for an explanation. "Dr. Thorton has been with us for years. She has many excellent, almost miraculous surgeries under her belt that saved the lives of children and adults alike. All in all, we felt she was more than qualified for the title."

"Were there any other candidates?"

"Well, Delonte Kingsley, but we decided that people would feel more comfortable with Kira."

A frown crossed the female detective's face. "Because of her…skin color?" she asked.

"No, of course not!" Ashe looked affronted, offended. "Kira had a certain charismatic aura about her, and I thought patients would be more calmed by her. Dr. Kingsley does not have the same level of soothing. He does not have the same remarkable qualities and abilities Dr. Thorton displayed, nor is he as physically reassuring to the patients."

Her frown only deepened. "Why is Dr. Kingsley not as physically reassuring as Dr. Thorton?"

"His…he has a…darker complexion, which may subconsciously unnerve the patients. We have to look out for the welfare of every patient, and sometimes people don't particularly like…those with a darker complexion," Ashe replied uncomfortably, and Olivia felt anger building in her gut.

"A darker complexion?" she said loudly. "He's black! You didn't want him to be head surgeon because he's black?"

"I…"

"Detective Benson! May I talk to you outside?" Elliot said.

Olivia glared at him, fire in her eyes, and he could not help but feel a slight bit of pride. She was standing up for what she believed in, and she had reason for doing so, Elliot supposed. However, he did not want her accusing a well-paid, well-respected doctor of racism before such a claim could be reasonably substantiated. Getting in over her head in this would not be good for their investigation or her own welfare. Still, she was Olivia, and she did not like being ordered around, and Elliot saw the defiant retort in her eyes before she said it. He had to diffuse the situation quickly and get her out of there before she did something they would both regret.

"Thank you, Dr. Ashe," he said swiftly. "We'll be in touch." With that, he wrapped his fingers firmly around his partner's wrist, ignoring the sudden heat that ignited as his hand came in touch with the foreign territory of her skin. He half-pulled half-escorted her out of the office and all the way outside the hospital, feeling simmering anger radiating off her in waves. Finally, on the sidewalk next to the sedan, he loosened his grip. She jerked her arm away as though burned, and the fury and outrage in her eyes was enough to let Elliot know that this was not going to be one of their rare argue-it-out-and-then-agree-to-disagree fights. This was going to be an all out shouting-themselves-hoarse-and-attacking-every-aspect-of-each-other-until-someone-cried fight. Who was going to get hurt this time? Elliot wondered resignedly. What would they say?

There was no way Olivia was starting this one. He had pulled her out of there, set the stage for the stupid thing, so he could damn well be the one to start it. She folded her arms across her chest in the split second she had to realize this was going to be a shouting match, and she hit an epiphany. They had been getting along. For weeks, they had been getting along, and now their whole relationship was going to be screwed because of her inability to pester their witness. Except she had a perfectly good reason for doing so, and Elliot had no right to pull her out of there just because she was pointing out flaws in Mercy's chief of staff. And that, despite the perfect way their relationship had been going, set her off all over again.

"What were you doing?" demanded Elliot suddenly, and Olivia frowned.

Something about him always made her angry, no matter how well they were getting along at the time. The instant he did or said something even slightly off mark, the fuse she considered relatively long just fell of the dynamite and she started exploding. Why? Why did she have to always be angry at him? She didn't like being angry at him, so why did he always have to make her so angry? Like this, for instance. Just the tone of his voice, the accusation, the insinuation that she had done something stupid or juvenile that he never would have done set her blood boiling. For goodness sake, _why?_

She snapped right back, "I was questioning a witness."

"You don't have the right to go in there and start yelling at him."

"Did you _hear_ him?" Olivia asked. "'A darker complexion'? Who does he think he's kidding?"

Elliot sighed. "I heard him, Liv, but you can't go accusing people of being racist just because of whom they do or do not promote."

"I was accusing him of being discriminatory, and you can't tell me you think he was being fair."

"I don't think he was being discriminatory!" he bellowed, just to spite combined raised voices and anger were drawing a crowd. Part of Olivia wanted to glance around or pull Elliot into some place more private, like the car, but she could not tear her eyes away from his. Even in her fury, she was losing herself in the beautiful ocean that was his eyes. In them she saw rage, a swirling hurricane right on the surface of his irises, but there was also something underneath, like the fuel for the fire. She wanted to know what it was, because she had a feeling it was in her eyes as well. She wanted to know what it was because maybe it would explain why, every time he made a mistake or bothered her in some way, she had the sudden urge to rip his heart right out of his chest. Why? Why, why, why, why, _why?_ What was this fuel, this knife that always cut the fuse off her dynamite stick of anger?

She had contemplated this before, when they were having an argument, and the answer that always appeared, the one she always pushed away, was love. No. Love was supposed to be perfect and beautiful and flawless. It happened to lovely women who had everything laid out for them on a platter. Not even that, it happened to people who deserved it. True love? No, Olivia did not deserve true love. She was a mistake child, not even supposed to exist. She was the five-year-old who ruined the rare family dinner because she walked into the room and asked which one of the strange men was her daddy. There was no love for someone who brought only hate and disorder.

Did she love Elliot? Yes.

For how long? Too long.

Did he love her? Of course not.

Was she ever going to tell him she loved him? Never.

Why not? Because, as far too many previous experiences had shown, Olivia Benson brought chaos into any sort of relationship. She had been a constant reminder to her mother of her rape. When she was sixteen and engaged to that boy in her mother's class, his family had most certainly had a little something to say about it. Simon and Lucy had been living their peaceful, happy lives together until Olivia showed up with her past in hand and destroyed her own brother's understanding of his father. Though she was not the cause of tension between Kathy and Elliot, she was a contributing factor. She was a cop, for goodness sake. She brought chaos into every home she visited, either by telling parents of something traumatic that had happened to their baby girl or by arresting a man for rape.

She was the bringer of everything bad that nobody wanted in their relationship, and she knew this. Elliot deserved so much more than anything she could offer him, and she was going to do everything in her power to give it to him, not bring him down with thoughts of life with a woman who had more disruption under her belt than most anyone they had met. He deserved better than her.

So she hollered right back at him with everything in her, just to show him how much he did not want her. She hollered at him to remind him of how horrible she could be and how much more he could have from someone who wasn't irreparably broken.

"Oh, you don't think he was even a little unfair?" she asked incredulously.

He suddenly quieted, looking at her as though she was the only one yelling, as though she should be locked up in the funny farm for her ridiculous public misconduct. "Liv," he said in a frighteningly calm voice, "is it your time of the month or something? Because, I'll be honest with you, this is getting out of hand. Calm down, okay?"

He had the nerve to stand there and look like this whole thing was her fault. How dare he? She glared at him for a moment, her eyes daggers of ice, and she finally threw up her hands in disgust. The conflagration of her anger and indignation burning even brighter, shooting sparks from her eyes and words from her mouth. "You want to be self-righteous, Stabler? Go ahead. Go ahead and say that I started this whole thing, that I'm the only one to blame here, that I'm unstable and volatile. You know that what I said to that man isn't why you're yelling now! Go ahead and pretend that you don't know the exact reason why you're angry with me!"

Panting and at the very end of her rope, utterly spent, Olivia watched him. She was suddenly fearful of what she had unleashed. Had she given away too much? Alerted him to what she never wanted him to know? As she rode out the shock waves of her outburst, she wondered with all her heart what her partner would do.

What he did was get right up in her face and glare down at her. Heat radiated off his body, and she tried not to shudder at the proximity. Using his superior size and bulk as an intimidation technique never worked on Olivia, but it was familiar territory, and Elliot was using it. Blue eyes smoldering, he whispered in the harshest voice he could conjure up, one that Olivia did not think she had ever heard before, "We're angry for the same reason, Olivia." With anger and victory in his gaze, he put the final nail in their coffin. "Tell me why we're angry."

And that sealed it. Olivia's defense mechanism immediately kicked in. She could not stay there any longer. He knew. Oh, God, he knew. He knew, and he would never forget, so she had to get out of there. She had to make him forget.

Her hands came out and rested on his chest, for the briefest of seconds sending fire coursing through his veins at the contact. She shoved once, just once, hard enough to push him away, and before he had time to even stumble back, she was gone, weaving her way through the crowded streets, never looking back, fleeing the scene of what she had just done.

Jeopardizing the safety of everything she held dear should have been something hard. It should have been something you planned out for months, established an elaborate scheme for, and then executed it. It should have been something you thought about the night before, going over a hundred million ways things could go wrong. It should have been something you got butterflies in your stomach for because you were worrying about making sure everything went perfectly. There was no way it had the right to be something as easy as what she had just done. Not only did that defy the laws of logic, but it defied the law of conservation of mass as well.

In order to destroy everything, it only stood to reason that one would have to use everything to do so. It should not have been possible for such huge, terrible consequences to come out of something said in casual arguments.

But it was, and she was going to pay for it.

Unless she got away.

She could run again. She had promised herself she would not run again, but that was before she had done _this._ She had implied exactly what she did not want him to know, he had played her up on it, and she had given justification for what he insinuated by running. But she could not stop now. She had made her bed, and now she had to lie in it. And now she had planning to do.

First up on the list was a call to Cragen. She would ask him for the rest of the day, which was honestly not much at all, to go home and sleep. He would agree; pushing her to take some time for herself seemed to have become one of his favorite hobbies. Second, she would start packing. She would fill up a duffle bag with bare essentials and run. Before when she had done this, she had actually possessed a destination. This time, she would run anywhere. Maybe she would go visit Casey, stay with her for a few days.

Just like that, her second thing to do was replaced by the need to call Casey. Elliot wouldn't think to check Casey's, which was why she was not asking Alex. Casey was safe. Casey was a haven. For the moment.

Deep down, she knew she was not going to leave forever. First of all, Kira Thorton and her poor mother were counting on her to bring her killer to justice. Second of all, there was an unbreakable link between her and Elliot that, no matter how hard she tried, she could not break. Her days in Oregon had tested that link to its limits, and it had still pulled her back in the end. It was like a rubber band, she reasoned. You could pull and pull and pull as far as you could, but you could only get so far before it snapped you right back into place.

For now, though, she could run. Running was comfortable, running was safe. As long as she was running, there was no time to stop and think.

* * *

***gulps* And the verdict is…?**

**Review! Take the opportunity to call me, ONCE, a/an [insert appropriate word here]**

**3 always, even if you're mad at me,**

**~ally**


	4. Disharmony

**I am actually very entertained by this. You all have never really seen El fight back, in situations like the one coming up, have you? Ever so entertained. **** And Olivia's method of payback…so unorthodox…**

**Disclaimer: Elliot and Olivia committed mutiny against Dick Wolf, but then they figured out what I was doing to them in this story, and they mutinied on me instead. But that's okay. As previously stated, I don't want them for this story. Long live Elliot Stabler!!!**

* * *

**Hospital Room of Olivia Benson – January 30**

_They sat together on the bench. People hurried past, clearly stressed, never bothering to take a second glance at the man and woman with the many file folders, obviously not doing anything remotely related to work. What was really happening…was, in fact, remotely related to work. Olivia had suggested a people-watching game on the way back from retrieving the files, and they hadn't found the willpower necessary to stop yet. They were working; they were improving their people-reading skills. Sort of._

_At that moment, she was listening to him tell a wild story about a small, mousy woman who had long since disappeared around the corner, describing how the way she walked was more in the form of a Swedish princess, and that her family had disowned her, kicking her out of Sweden because of her short stature and weak figure. When Olivia asked if he was sure Sweden still had kings and princesses, he replied that everything they knew about Sweden was a conspiracy. The Swedish were secretly planning to take over the world through a combination of untested nuclear weapons and poisoned straightjackets._

"_What?" Olivia laughed, holding her sides as she struggled for control over her breathing. "Who died and left you Munch?"_

_At this, Elliot laughed too, moving the stack of folders so they wouldn't fall. He loved this, this easy banter and teasing between the two of them. After only a few months in her company, he felt as though he had known her forever. He knew the way her brown hair would fall into her chocolate eyes when she tilted her head slightly…the way her voice could go from soft and sweet to sharp and strong in a matter of seconds…the way her laugh sounded, full and loud as it bubbled up from deep within or teasing mockery at something completely ridiculous… He knew her, every aspect of her, every facet, and he knew it was the same for her. Generally, he would object to anyone even daring to know so much about him, but with Olivia he was willing to make an exception. She was, after all, Olivia._

"_What about him?" he asked, pointing out a rather attractive, dark-haired man, tall and fit, lean and muscular but nowhere near bulky._

_Olivia clicked her pen thoughtfully, watching the man walk away. "Hmm…" He had a strange pace, she decided, like the kid in elementary school who always bought the hundred-pack of crayons so he could show off the "robin's egg blue" and the "rustic red brick" colors to the children with a mere twelve._

"_He is clearly a man with something to prove," she began with a faux pompous air. "His overly long stride would indicate a desire to show off and be better than everyone else. When he was young, he lived in a family of underachievers who had little to call their own and were paid even less. He worked three jobs to pay his way through college, forging a driver's license so that he could get to and from in his clunky old truck. In school, he was teased for his lanky frame, and he fought back with a superior intellect and knowledge of words. He bullied his bullies until they didn't even know what he was saying anymore. He studied hard and became a defense attorney, struggling to protect the poor, huddled masses, who he doesn't acknowledge were once part of his childhood."_

_She paused and glanced at the one-man audience to her tale, ensuring that he was not getting bored. Actually, she had planned on stopping the story there, but something kept her going. Her next words were, "He fell in love, this man, just once. It was with the beautiful, ebony-haired, fair-skinned, brown-eyed prosecutor at one of his cases. She looked at him, and he never looked away. He feared talking to her, always became tongue-tied around her, and he worried that any relationship he pursued would end in the shambles his youth was already in. But she offered him a chance, and he took it…"_

"_But," Elliot interrupted, "he ended up pushing her away because, no matter how hard he tried to stay with her, the terror of messing things up took over his mind. He was overly paranoid about what he did and said to her, and eventually she just up and left, saying she couldn't take the insecurity anymore. He kept nothing from their failure besides one picture of him and her together, not doing anything important, and he would stare at it, day and night, just to see the brown-eyed woman he adored." His blue eyes seemed to bore into her brown ones, filled with more intensity than she thought capable for one person, but a smirk grew on his face, taking the edge off, the Stabler smirk she thought was just so darn cute, and he applauded her politely. "Great story," he said._

_The teasing, mocking grin was not supposed to offend her, and she knew this, so the punch she landed on his shoulder was entirely playful. All the same, he tried to scoot away from her._

_His body collided with the stack of folders, and he gathered them, carefully placing them between him and Olivia as a barrier, a reminder. As he removed his hands, his fingers brushed Olivia's hip, and she jumped. Her eyes followed his offending digits with disbelief, and an awkward silence stretched between them._

"_Sorry, Liv," he said._

_She watched him for a moment and smiled. "That's okay," she replied, lifting a file from the stack. And then, changing the subject, "We need to get started."_

_Perhaps half an hour passed in silence before Olivia glanced at her watch and said, "You know what, El, why don't you go home? You're going to miss dinner."_

"_I'll be surprised if they haven't changed the locks on me," Elliot replied, thanking her with his eyes as he gathered what he'd brought with him and stood up._

_Olivia watched him go and, in a small and irrational part of her rebellious imagination, she made up another fantastical story about a dark-haired Special Victims Unit detective who gave her the strangest feelings, and how he lay beside his wife and thought of his partner before he fell asleep._

"She looks so peaceful," Munch said, sitting down beside Olivia and squeezing her hand awkwardly. "She's sleeping."

Fin shook his head. "She ain't sleeping. If she was sleeping, she wouldn't look peaceful." He crossed from the doorway to her bedside and stared at her. Of its own accord, his hand moved to brush her hair out of her stitched up face. He tucked the strands behind her ear. "Wake up, baby girl," he whispered as Munch nodded vehemently in agreement. "You gotta wake up."

* * *

**Benson Residence – Tuesday, November 15**

It had been more difficult than Olivia had expected to convince Cragen to give her the evening off, but she had managed to by swearing up one side and down the other that she would come and see him in the morning, and that she would keep him in the loop. Her plans with Casey had been quashed and stomped on when she realized Casey's phone was disconnected. Apparently she had gone to stay with some relatives in Texas. And that left Olivia at home by herself. With her captain placated and her partner somewhere that was not with her, she let the waves of anger wash over her and her ever-present temptation of alcohol. It was a temptation because she was not looking to drink herself to death, and she did not trust herself with potent liquor in her current state of mind.

Fury rolled around her in a thick aura, and she inhaled deeply. Her fingers were clenched into fists, her teeth gritted so hard she was surprised they weren't cracking, and her gun was where it always was when she was home. Right on the table in front of her, where she could see it, evaluate it, and consider it. She was angry, and she knew why. She was angry because she did not know how much she had given away with her little outburst outside the hospital. Because they had drawn attention to themselves, just like always, and made complete fools of each other in public view. She was angry because she knew he was right. She should not have gone off on the doctor like that. She had no proof that he was racist; he could have just been, as he said, looking out for those patients who were, in fact, racist. Her response had been thoughtless, juvenile, and the actions of a hot-headed rookie rather than the seasoned officer she was supposed to be. And, on top of all that, Cragen had told them all, flat out, that there were no legal grounds to blow this out of proportion to a black supremacy attack.

So much had gone wrong today. Ever so much should not have been said, and it was in this that she wallowed. They were getting back on track. She and Elliot had been almost back to normal, she thought, and she had not even noticed until it was too late. What was that saying? _You don't know what you've got 'till it's gone._ How true, she realized. How very true that was. She had been blessed with Elliot Stabler, and she had screwed it up. Again. Again, and again, and again she screwed their fragile relationship until she was not entirely sure how it was still alive at all, much less on the mend. But then she had gone and screwed it up again with a moment of irrationality, and she had not even known what she would lose until it was too late.

He had been right to ask if it was her time of the month; that was what she was acting like. She knew the stereotype of the girl who wore her heart on her sleeve and could not participate in any rational discussion because, the minute something rubbed her the wrong way, she was screaming her head off like some unbalanced child. That was what she felt like. That was how she had acted.

She hated it.

And she hated that she had put him through it. Clearly they did not work well together. It was so obvious now. Wherever they walked for the past three years, chaos lay strewn in their wake. And yet they kept on walking. Maybe it was something about them together, their mixed personalities, that caused the destruction. One of them alone was proven to not be a problem. Elliot had gotten along just fine with Dani Beck. Olivia had even heard through the grapevine that he was now becoming known for "getting some from every female partner, not just Benson." That last part of the rumor had been going around for a while, and she had laughed when she heard it. As if.

But the point was that he had not argued with Dani. Quite the contrary, he had welcomed her. Into his life and his bed, Olivia thought sourly before pulling her thoughts away again. That sounded like jealousy, and she had no right to be jealous. Especially not of _her._ She had no claim to Elliot, and he was free to kiss and sleep with anyone he wanted to. And he was perfectly free to be happy. He seemed happy with Dani as a partner. It was her, Olivia, who made him tear out his hair – what was left of it – with frustration and anger. They were incompatible, they were not healthy for each other, and they had to fix that before it got out of hand, and something was done to one of them that could not be repaired.

Sighing, her anger dissipated for the time being, Olivia curled up on her couch with a blanket or five and stared at the wall, thinking about what was waiting for her. They had been dormant for a while, and therapy was helping, but one thing still regularly triggered them. They weren't always about her assault; there were ten years of horrors to choose from. But the one thing that, without fail, caused her to wake up screaming into the dark was a fight with her partner. Resignedly, she allowed her eyes to flutter closed and waited patiently for the nightmares to come.

* * *

**SVU Squad Room – Wednesday, November 16**

Elliot was a man on a mission, and anybody who got between him and his mission could shove it. After lying awake in bed beside his wife for hours and not getting one minute of sleep, he realized what was going to happen. Olivia was going to leave again. He did not know how, and he did not know why, but he knew when. Never one to procrastinate on anything but paperwork, Olivia would be talking to the captain this morning. She would get there, bright and early, and wait for Cragen to show up. Then, she would follow him into his office, lay out all her reasons for leaving, and wait for him to give her an out. And then she would be gone. Again. He would be alone. Again.

There was no way that Elliot was going to let that happen to him. Again.

Sure enough, as he plowed into the squad room, a few detectives were milling around, and Olivia was in the captain's office. Cragen was staring at her with an unhappy expression on his face, but Olivia appeared adamant, and Elliot could see the captain's composure wavering. Finally, he said something that seemed to placate her for the moment, and she left his office, shutting his door carefully so as not to alert anyone to her presence.

It was too bad for her that Elliot was already there.

She caught sight of him as soon as she looked up, and she froze. A guilty conscience was easy to spot, and it was plain as day on Olivia's face. She tried to brush it off, though, nodding good morning at him, even offering a tentative smile. When he did not return it, she lowered her gaze and hurried her step, trying to flee. But Elliot was not letting that happen either.

The fact that she was doing this to him again, leaving him again without so much as a "good riddance, El" was no longer just painful, it was insulting. Elliot tried to quell his anger, but it was not working very well. His arm shot out, and she walked right into it. Recoiling instantly, she tried to move, but his hands latched onto her shoulders, and he met her gaze unfailingly. If her brown eyes were hostile, his blue ones were enraged. A flash of heat raced through him, fueling the fire that burned in his chest.

"Locker room," he ordered sharply, drawing stares from the watching detectives. "Now."

"You can't tell me…" Olivia began, but Elliot overrode her.

"Locker room, Olivia!"

He watched her debate it, considering whether or not she should call his bluff and race out. He saw it in her eyes, and he shot it down before it could take flight. "Try it," he whispered. "Just see how far you get." When she continued to glare stubbornly at him, he said, "I believe I gave you an order, detective."

Senior detective. Elliot was a senior detective, and Olivia was junior detective. Therefore, that gave him authority over her. He could pull rank on her any time he liked, and she would technically have to do as he said. She did not think his seniority pertained to this particular situation, but she knew he would just catch her if she tried to run, and at least in the locker room there would be some semblance of privacy. So, with daggers shooting from her eyes, she nodded curtly and followed him to his desired destination.

For a brief moment, she wondered if she could just bolt before he could turn around, but he seemed to read her thoughts and wrapped his fingers around her upper arm, holding her with him, and so it remained until he had shut the door of the locker room and pulled her around to face him.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded. There was no foreplay, no beating around the bush. He was going straight for the kill.

Olivia glared, very conscious of both her arms, held prisoner by his hands. "I was talking to Cragen about something," she informed him. "Remind me again how this concerns you?"

Breathing deeply, Elliot clenched and unclenched his hands around her arms and did his best to calm down enough to say, "I'm sick of it, Olivia. I am sick of you leaving." Even despite her best efforts, he watched as the resolve in her eyes faltered, and he pressed on. "Every time something goes wrong, you leave. You went to Computer Crimes. You went to Oregon. God knows where you were going this time, but it's not going to happen. At the very least, you have a responsibility to _tell_ me when you're going to do something like this, and you owe me an explanation. I deserve that much from you, _partner._"

He spat the word at her like it was a disgusting thing he had found in his mouth, perhaps a remnant of last night's dinner, and kept going. "Do you have any idea what it was like for me? Either time? Do you? You were gone! You weren't on sick leave or away for a conference, you were just gone! I didn't know where you were! Cragen said he couldn't tell me anything, and I didn't have anything to go on besides a hunch, a guess, that you might have been with the Feds. Do you have any idea how that feels? To know that your partner, the person you've seen more than your own wife and children for seven years has just up and vanished into thin air? Olivia, you left me without anything to show me you were okay, and then all of a sudden you just pop back into my life, both times, like you were just expecting me to be here, expecting me to wait."

"I knew you wouldn't have left…" Olivia began, but he smoothly cut across her.

"What if I hadn't been here?" he demanded. "What if I had been shot? What if I quit? What if…what if I didn't want you back? You didn't bother to worry about any of that, did you? No, you just assumed that I would sit and stay like a good dog and wait for you to come back from wherever the hell you were. That hurt, Olivia. You have no idea how much that hurt. But I did it. I waited. I waited while you got your 'change' in Computer Crimes, and I waited while you solved your case and did who-knows-what in Oregon, because I trusted that you would come back. I trusted that, at some point, you would walk back into my life."

"And I did, El…"

He laughed scornfully. "Yeah, you did. It only took a few months. And there I was, sitting there obediently, waiting for you, right? Isn't that what you were expecting? Me waiting for you to come home? And you wonder why I'm angry with you!" His fury had built up through his tirade, and it was now to the point of explosion. He shoved her away from him, and she hit the lockers behind her, eliciting a yelp of indignation and surprise. Before she had time to react, he was in front of her again, on her, his hands and body pinning her to the lockers. "Let me tell you something, Olivia," he said in a deathly whisper, his breath hot on her face. "I'm so tired of waiting for you all the time. You leave and come back whenever you feel like it, and you act like nothing's wrong. Well, listen to me now, right now, because I'm not saying this again." And he leaned very close to her.

His lips nearly grazed her ear as he made what Olivia knew in her heart to be the most unbreakable promise he had ever made, to her or anyone. "If you want to run away from me again, you go right ahead. But when you come back this time, I won't be waiting for you. I won't take you back and go on like nothing happened. The next time you leave, and the next time you come back, you're on your own. If you come back to this unit, I'm switching partners. Don't expect me to speak to you, and don't expect me to be your friend, because I won't be. If I can't have you do me the courtesy of speaking to me, then you don't get it from me."

Very carefully, he removed a hand from her arm and realized she was shaking. He drew back just enough to look her full in the face, and he could see tears brimming in her eyes. They threatened to spill, but she fought them.

"I'm…Elliot, I'm…" she stammered, trying to get the words out, trying to make him stay with her. He had to stay with her. He couldn't just leave her like that; that wasn't fair. How could he threaten to leave her, after everything they'd been through together? Was it really that easy for him to just up and abandon her? A soft gasp of realization flew from her lips. That was what she had done. Without any warning, she had left him. She was sorry for it, but that was what she had done.

Her revelation did not go unnoticed, and he nodded his acknowledgement, releasing her from his grasp. "Save it, Olivia," he said. "It won't work this time." And with that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the locker room.

Olivia, too stunned to protest, just sank to the floor, rested her forehead on her knees, and cried.

* * *

**SVU Squad Room – Wednesday, November 16**

Fuming at his desk was something Elliot did a lot of. When there was no time to beat up the punching bag, he just sat at his desk and glared at everything in sight. His blazing blue eyes met those of a rookie detective, Ashleanne or something, and she squeaked in terror before running to the other side of the room as fast as she could. Elliot didn't really care; he was too wrapped up in what he had done, what he had said, and her reaction to it. Burning sensations still coursed through his veins, phantom memories of her body against his. He had pinned her to the lockers, literally held her there, immobile. And his mouth had been mere seconds away from her. His focus had not been on such proximity at the time; he had been more concentrated on getting his point across. He had meant it. Every single word he said to her in that locker room was the truth. He was not waiting for her again. If she really had no idea how badly she hurt him, then he would try it on her and see if he got the same result.

Her tears, though, had shocked him. While he had expected her to tell him some crap about how she could make her own decisions and didn't need him giving her ultimatums to keep her under his control, he had never even considered the possibility of making her cry. In truth, he felt like a jerk for bringing her to tears, but he also felt she deserved to feel something of what he felt when she did the same thing to him. Many sleepless nights had been spent during those months, and through all of them he had sat on his couch and tried to fight the overwhelming sadness that accompanied her loss. It was as though someone had taken away a part of himself. He missed her, plain and simple.

A noise, barely detectable, caught his attention. Footsteps followed, and he watched his partner, eyes red from crying, tiptoe into the squad room. She avoided everyone's eyes, walking slowly and carefully to Cragen's office again. She slipped through the door and disappeared. Moments later, she returned to his line of vision and made her subdued way to her desk. Keeping her eyes on her feet, she passed him and took her seat. Fingers flew across the keyboard as she logged into the computer and began working on something.

Elliot watched her, but she said nothing. She did not look at him. With dawning anxiety, he wondered what exactly it was he had done to her.

Nervous but unwilling to push her any further away, he let her be for the time being and worked instead on the case he had caught while Olivia was at home. A little boy, no older than eight, had been raped at the playground when he left his mother's sightline to go chase the puppy. He had cried when he saw Elliot, saying his eyes were the same as "the bad man's". Elliot had been hoping Olivia would have better luck with the child, but with her taking an apparent vow of silence, he would have to make her listen first.

Some of the things the boy said did not seem consistent, and it was these things that Elliot poured over until, finally, he felt a tentative touch on his arm.

"Elliot?" Her voice was soft and cautious, and he looked up to meet her eyes, but she did not make contact. Her gaze was on the file and determined not to leave, but she was speaking to him. That was a good sign. "What are you looking at?" she asked.

He showed her the file and gave her a brief overview before getting to the part bothering him, the part where what the mother swore and the boy said did not match up exactly. "See, Mrs. Alvarez told me again and again that they were at a playground near the school Caleb goes to, but the boy told me he'd never seen the place before, and the closest school to that place was a high school. The nearest elementary school was much farther away."

He traced paths on the simple map she brought him so she could see. "And," he continued, "when I asked what school he went to, he looked at his mother until she gave an answer. Wouldn't you know what school you went to?" A frown was on his face, and Olivia pondered this momentarily.

"Did you have a chance to talk to him alone?" she asked.

"I couldn't," replied Elliot. "I could barely get _that_ out of him in the first place! He remembered his rapist had blue eyes like mine, so now he's scared of me."

Olivia sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. "Okay, I'll go see him today."

He nodded, seeking out her eyes again, but they were still downcast. Commenting on it would probably lead to her snapping at him, which would lead to more problems because, though he had been adamant mere minutes ago, seeing her was eroding his resolve. If she called his bluff now, he was not sure what he would do. So, he remained silent about it for the time being.

The phone rang, and before Elliot could grab it, Olivia's hand automatically shot out. "Benson, Special Victims… Kathy? ...No, he's here, I just…Yeah, here." She passed him the phone without looking at him and returned to her own desk with the case file, reviewing the details she had missed and berating herself for not sucking up her pride and going back to the station last night. Maybe this boy would have talked, and then they would be a step ahead.

She tried not to hear her partner speaking quietly to his wife over the phone, but it was difficult, and every so often Olivia would catch snippets of conversation that piqued her interest.

"…caught a case, Kath. You know that…has nothing to do with her…have this discussion over the phone…why is it always..." He sighed, a long, drawn-out, unhappy sound. "I don't know, Kathy. I'll call you when I do, okay?...Yeah, bye." The phone returned to its cradle, and Elliot rested his face in his hands with another sigh.

Olivia was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Requesting personal information from her partner would require eye contact, something that Olivia was not willing to give him at this point. However, her natural instincts were coming into play, ordering her to talk to him. The internalized debate continued until her own phone rang and saved her the decision.

For the second time in a matter of minutes, Olivia said, "Benson, Special Victims." Her eyebrows furrowed, and she nodded absently, knowing the person she was talking to could not see her. "Kirchhoff?... Yes, of course. When would be a good… Well, that's convenient. Where..." Elliot shoved a piece of paper her way, and she nodded her thanks, scribbling down an address. "Yeah, we know the area. We'll find it. Thank you." She hung up and stood up, swinging into her coat.

"Who was that?" Elliot asked.

"Janey Kirchoff," Olivia replied. "She was one of Kira's friends; apparently Mrs. Miravelle did our job for us and informed all her friends and relatives. She says she has some information for us."

* * *

**The Purple Daisy – Wednesday, November 16**

Small cafés always seemed to have the best food, Olivia noticed as she watched her partner devour a piece of apple pie in record time. They were waiting for Kira's friend to show up, and Elliot had decided that, while they were waiting, they could eat. Well, he could eat, at least. Olivia, having just eaten breakfast perhaps an hour or so ago, did not feel the need to find something to munch on.

Elliot nudged her with his elbow and nodded toward the door. "That her?" he asked, mercifully clearing his mouth of food before speaking.

"Yep," Olivia said. "She told me she'd be wearing a purple shirt and a black jacket."

Sure enough, the woman glanced around and made a beeline for their table. "Detective Benson?" she confirmed, and Olivia nodded. "Oh, good," Janey Kirchhoff said, sliding into the seat across from them. "I was thinking on the way here, what if someone had taken the booth or something, but I guess I'm here enough that they just consider it reserved."

To further her point, a tall waiter with blond hair and a glowing smile on his face made his stately way over and said, "Hey there, Janey! These two had us worried when they sat down, but I guess you were expecting them, huh?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "Can I get you anything? Some coffee? Tea?"

"No, I'm fine. Thanks, Peter." Janey smiled at him, and he left. She tucked a piece of auburn hair behind her ear. Immediately, her demeanor returned to its subdued nature, and both detectives noticed her red-rimmed eyes.

Hoping conversation would help ease the woman's nerves, Olivia smirked slightly. "He seems to like you," she said.

"They all do," Janey replied with a sigh. "They think I come in here so often because I'm after one of them, and they're trying to be the one." With a roll of her eyes, she relaxed into her seat a little more.

Olivia cocked an eye in the waiter's direction conspiratorially. "He's a good looking guy," she acknowledged.

"Honestly, I'd be ever so happy with Peter if he weren't so overly eager to help," Janey confided.

"So you play them all so they keep your table reserved?" Elliot asked, leftover frustrations rising.

Janey glared at him, and Olivia kicked him under the table, sharing a glance with the woman that said simply, _Men._

"You said you had some information for us?" Olivia reminded, drawing everyone's attention back to where it was supposed to be.

Janey nodded. "About Kira? Yeah, she, um… She told me about this, uh, this guy and said he was giving her trouble over her promotion thing. She said…she said…" she bit her lip. "She said he told her the only reason she got the promotion was because she was white, and that she and her…_kind_ were going to pay for what it had done to his grandfather." A tear rolled its way down her cheek, and she sighed.

Eyes sympathetic, Olivia asked, "When was this?"

"A…a few…" Janey gulped in air as the tears flowed faster. "A few days before she went missing."

*** * ***

**SVU Squad Room – Wednesday, November 16**

"Kira Thorton went missing Sunday, November 13 from her Brooklyn home. Her family filed a missing persons report Monday evening, when she didn't show up for work or her aunt's birthday celebration, and nobody was in her home." Munch closed the folder. "You found her the next day in Battery Park."

Elliot groaned. "Why didn't anybody tell us this?" he demanded of nobody in particular. Of course, nobody had an answer.

"Alright, that's three people who said this Kingsley guy was angry at her, and two who recount some form of threat against her from this same guy," Cragen said. "Go bring him down here for a visit."

Olivia and Elliot started out the door, but Cragen called, "Olivia! Can I see you in my office for a minute?"

Almost fearfully, Olivia's eyes flickered to Elliot and away. Her partner wore an expression of mixed anger and worry. She slowly made her way over to her captain and followed him into his office.

"Yes, sir?"

Cragen sighed. "Are you absolutely sure you don't want me to switch you up? You were pretty insistent earlier."

"Yes," Olivia said, her eyes inspecting her feet, her voice subdued. "I'm sure."

A frown crossed her captain's face. "Liv," he hesitated, "what happened in the locker room?"

Immediately on the defensive, Olivia said with a little more volume, "What makes you think something happened?"

"Well, before he took you – ordered you – up there, you were swinging for changing partners again. You come down a while later, you've clearly been crying, and you tell me never mind, you don't want a new partner. Is that reason enough for you?"

"Captain…" she chanced a look up at him, and all she saw in his eyes was concern. Still, she was not telling him. "Nothing happened, and I'm fine with Elliot," she promised.

Leaving his office seconds later, she continued to avoid her partner's eyes, and he chanced a "what happened". She replied with her favorite response. "Nothing."

* * *

**Interrogation Room – Wednesday, November 16**

Delonte Kingsley had to be the most muscled, built man Olivia had ever seen. And she was sitting next to her partner, who had, until now, held that same position. Olivia was not one to ruminate over such things; she would notice and file the information away for later use. This, though…this was just so blatantly obvious and flaunted that she… She was quite certain that Kingsley right now had exactly the same body as Mickey Hargitay did at the height of his bodybuilding career. One inference she made was that he was easily stronger than her or Elliot, and probably both of them combined. If he decided to make a break for it or be any kind of violent with them, they were basically powerless to stop him.

Unhappy with this development and silently asking God why He couldn't make one of their perps a stick figure for once, the detectives continued their interrogation. They had taken him through the procedural things like how he knew the victim, if he was angry at her and why, and where he was on the nights of the kidnapping and murder.

Olivia eyed him closely, looking him up and down before crossing to the other side of the room. She noticed when his eyes, dark and condescending, followed her. "You don't like me, do you?" she asked.

Kingsley shrugged. "Not particularly, ma'am."

Slow and twanging, the man's southern drawl permeated the room, sounding like any man from the south. His speech itself, word formation and vocabulary and grammar, had been perfected overtime by what Elliot, silently watching, assumed was years of practice. The accent was as strong as ever, and Kingsley probably made sure of that, but his dialect was as good as that of a Harvard man and boasted his intellect.

"Why?" Olivia queried, sitting down across from him. "Because I'm a woman?"

Kingsley narrowed his eyes and vehemently shook his head. "No, ma'am. I'm proud to work alongside many women and call them my equals. A white man's desire for superiority has punished blacks and women for centuries."

Nodding, Olivia folded her arms and rested them on the table, leaning in slightly. "No, I thought not," she said, "because you don't like him—" she jerked her head back at Elliot "—either." Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "Is it a…relationship thing? Do I look like one of your exes or something?"

"Hell, no!" Kingsley said, standing up and walking over to the windows. Olivia relaxed her muscles again, noticing only afterwards that she tensed whenever he moved. "I don't date white girls," he said. "No offense."

"None taken," she replied. "So you don't like me because I'm white?"

The man's eye twitched, and Olivia had her answer.

"That's it, huh? You don't like white people?"

He was angry now. "I never said that!"

But Elliot decided to join the fray. "You didn't have to. It's written all over your face when you look at her! When you look at me!" Then, putting his face very close to the man, he met his hard-eyed glare head-on. "Is that what you thought? You thought Doctor Thorton was getting the better position because she was white? Is that why you killed her?"

"Hey now!" Kingsley protested. "I didn't kill anybody!"

"Sure you did! You tortured her, raped her, and then you bled her dry!" On a wave of the rage from which he got his nickname, Elliot stuck his face even closer and whispered threateningly, "Did you want to hear her scream, Kingsley? Is that why you cut her face? You wanted to hear her scream for mercy?"

Riled, Kingsley shouted right back at him. "I'm telling you right now: the only way she could have gotten that promotion is because she was white. Alright? I know that! You just can't admit it! So I was angry, yes, but I didn't kill her!"

"The only way?" Olivia asked. "What about superior intellect? Did you ever think of that? I think she got the promotion because she was just a better surgeon than you, and that made you angry, so you decided to teach her a lesson. Right? Isn't that how it went down, Kingsley?"

The man slowly turned his gaze on her, and it became disdainful immediately. Perhaps her gender was not the main reason why he did not like her, but it was a contributing factor, Olivia realized. "Kira was not a better surgeon, she was just more _pleasing_ to Mercy's head than me," he promised.

"She was smarter than you," Olivia nodded, "and you couldn't deal with it."

Before either of them could blink, Kingsley was out of his seat, and Olivia was pinned to the wall. She pushed and kicked, but her earlier observations were correct. Even with Elliot employing his own defense, Kingsley did not move. His breath was hot in her ear as he whispered, "I am not a petulant child who needs to be jealous of some white girl because she got the better seat on the bus, Detective Benson. If I were to kill someone, I would make sure it was over something logical, like an insult to my intelligence, rather than a promotion." He paused, shifted, and Olivia poised her knee. "Is that clear?" he asked.

"Crystal," Olivia replied, and her knee shot up. Kingsley yelled, and Elliot, using his Marine training, flipped him and cuffed him.

"Doctor Kingsley," Elliot said, "you just assaulted a police officer. Now, if we were talking about intelligence, that would be what we call stupid. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…" He recited Kingsley's Miranda rights and led him out of the room. The doctor went quietly, probably recognizing that resisting arrest would make his situation worse than it already was.

* * *

**Oh, dear, so much detail. Has anybody noticed the chapter titles, by any chance? A…B…C…D…I'm trying my absolute best to do this, and I guess we'll see how it goes.**

**Tell me what you think – oh my goodness! You remember the girl from Hothouse? The Jennifer girl who stabbed her roommate with a pen and threw her into the river because she was sleep-deprived? Well, I just saw her on the new Olive Garden commercial. O_o**

**Review review review! Pretty please?**

**3 ally**


	5. Extras

**Rather long chapter, hope nobody minds, and it's been a while because I've been in Australia with no Internet access. You have no idea how hard it was to write for Olivia in this one, and I think you'll see why. I tried to stay as true to her character as possible, within the parameters I set out for myself. If you take issue with her, please don't rip on her. Leave me a review and let me know. Perhaps I can better explain my reasoning.**

**Disclaimer: Dick Wolf said, if I stopped calling him and peeking in his bedroom window at night, he would give me SVU as a Christmas present. A few days later, I received armed security guards in the mail instead. I think there was a packaging error, so I wrote the esteemed Mr. Wolf yesterday to ask about it. He has not replied.**

* * *

**Hospital Room of Olivia Benson – January 30**

"…_-ologists are convinced that his royal highness, Prince Albert Victor, committed the…" Munch's words drifted in and out of focus in Olivia's ears, and she smiled at another one of his conspiracy theories. He was always going on about something or other to do with the death of some famous person in history, whether it was JFK's assassination or the possibility that some actress…Jayne something – Mansfield maybe? – had actually been shot before the car crash that "supposedly" killed her but left nothing besides a cut on her daughter's head. What was that child's name? She was something famous now…some strange, Hungarian name that sounded different than it looked… Olivia struggled for the name for a moment but eventually gave up, deciding that the woman's name was not important enough to waste her time with. There was a rapist to be caught._

_Cutting off their paranoid friend in mid-sentence, Elliot stood. His hand lightly brushed Olivia's arm, indicating that she do likewise. Together, they excused themselves to go and follow up on another lead they had just remembered, leaving Fin and Cragen slightly envious and Munch put out._

_The elevator doors closed._

_She looked over at him and met his probing eyes. For two beats they stared at each other and then, in unison, burst out laughing. And then they were laughing so hard they could not stop. The languidly-moving elevator dinged a signal that it had arrived at their destination, but Elliot's hand made contact with the 'door closed' button just so they would not make fools of themselves when people saw them losing it._

"_Does he," Olivia coughed between gasps for breath, "ever stop?"_

_Elliot shook his head, leaning back against the elevator walls and struggling for control of himself. "Never," he managed. "I remember one time; maybe five years ago, he rambled on for hours and hours about Richard Nixon and how it was actually he who hired the hit man to kill Kennedy, as revenge for beating him in the election. He started talking around five, but he wouldn't let us leave the squad room until he had finished, which was a bit after eight." He met her eyes with a rueful grin. "Kathy couldn't understand why one of 'my male coworkers' jabbering' made me late for dinner."_

_She smiled. She was sitting on the floor now, finally managing to calm herself down, but she did not bother to stand. Oddly enough, the floor was reasonably comfortable, and she liked it. Her forearms rested on her knees, which were pulled up to her chest. He lowered his gaze to hers and grinned wider._

"_You shrunk," he said matter-of-factly. She shrugged._

_To correct this apparent error of her height, he made his stately way across the two feet of space separating them and slid down the wall to sit next to her in the exact same position._

"_Better?" she asked._

"_Much."_

_He nudged her with his elbow, and she, not expecting it, fell over. "Hey!" she exclaimed, indignantly righting herself. She shoved him, and he gave her a push. She smacked him. A no-holds-barred battle was swift in the coming, and it quickly turned into a mocking, teasing catfight featuring both parties laughing hysterically all over again as she kicked his shin with her pointy-toed boot._

"_Ouch!" he protested. Her leather-clad toes made contact with his leg bone. "Not fair! You have armor on!"_

_She laughed and wiggled her boot in his direction. "I need armor! You've got more muscle than me." He flexed superiorly. She scoffed. "I can still beat you in a fight," she told him._

_Elliot's eyebrows waggled up and down. "You sound pretty sure of yourself," he said._

"_That's because I am," replied Olivia coolly._

_A speculative look came over his face, and without warning he launched a fist at her. She caught it and ducked around to his side. His captured arm bent, sending his elbow in her direction and catching her in the mouth. Her foot snapped up in reflex and caught his already injured shin. He grabbed her wrists and spun her around, twisting her arms so that they were crossed over her body, and her back was against his chest. Heels tried to retaliate, but he stood in such a position that it was impossible._

_He put his mouth directly next to her ear and whispered, "Gotcha."_

_Immediately, her head snapped to the side, catching his. Surprise loosened his grasp on her wrists, and she managed to pull free. Quick as a flash, her knee shot up and stopped a few inches from where it could cause severe pain. She held it there for a moment and then lowered it, retreating to the other side of the elevator and grinning like crazy. She did not say anything; her eyes spoke volumes, and they taunted him mercilessly. He frowned unhappily. She chuckled._

_The elevator doors, which they had all but forgotten about, pinged open._

_People outside peered in curiously, wondering who had caused the holdup. The sight of Elliot and Olivia on either side of the car, both flushed and slightly out of breath, elicited many a whisper in the surprising amount of cops gathered. The crowd parted for them, and they made their merry way out of the precinct._

_Olivia clucked her tongue as if chastising. "Beaten by a girl, El? How humiliating!"_

_And then he was behind her, one hand somehow holding both her hands behind her back, and the other arm wrapped around her neck in a headlock. "Say 'Uncle'," he whispered in her ear._

"_Aunt," she muttered, and he let her go because he started laughing again._

"Beep…Beep…Beep…" said the machines attached to Don's unresponsive detective. "Beep" was all they could seem to say, and Don was sick and tired of it. He wanted, needed, to hear Olivia's voice. Not the stupid 'beep' over and over. It was keeping him from crawling back inside the sanctuary of a bottle at this point, the faint hope that she would somehow pull of a miracle and jump out of her coma like it had never been.

But so far she had done nothing of the sort, and that bottle of vodka in Don's desk drawer was looking more appealing by the day. Perhaps that was why the Chief of D's had sent him home. He knew about the temptation and was afraid that it would prove too great for Don's weakened resilience to handle. But no, that couldn't be it, because the Chief had sent Munch and Fin home as well, and whatever drinking problems those two may have had were not yet written down in the books as alcoholism.

Don sighed, stood, and pulled the thin blanket up over Olivia's neck, some form of tucking her in for the night. When his fingers gently grazed the stitches on her face – which was finally free of bandages – they seemed to be healing. He took care of her while she was like this in the hopes that it would bring her back faster. It was a vain hope but a hope nonetheless. And, as he had come to explain it, he had already lost one detective in recent days. He was going to do his damnedest to make sure that he wouldn't have to handle losing two.

* * *

**SVU Squad Room – Friday, November 18**

Olivia sifted through Kingsley's financial records, frustrated. She had just heard from Alex, who said that Mercy Hospital apparently valued Kingsley enough to get him an excellent lawyer, who, despite Alex's best efforts, got him an extremely low bail that he paid immediately. Needless to say, she was displeased, but since it was a minor miracle the charge had stuck in the first place, she had not been expecting much in the first place. She already knew Kingsley probably wasn't going to spend a day in prison, either because of his lawyer or a deal Alex offered.

So now she needed something to pin Kira's murder on him. Preferably before the man was free of the maze known as the U.S. justice system. It was vague, but she felt like she owed it to the woman to get her justice, after she saved Elliot's life. While sifting through Kingsley's purchases was not the most exciting endeavor she could pursue, she would do it…

…especially when she found something like what she was seeing now. "Elliot!" she called, waving him over with her eyes fixed on the screen.

He placed a hand on the back of her chair and leaned over her to see the fine print on the screen, and Olivia felt her breath catch at his closeness. Heat from his body transmitted itself to hers, and she shivered as the cold left her.

"Liv? You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah."

She resisted the urge to look up and meet his eyes, reminding herself that she was not doing that. As much as she loved his eyes and the warm, tingly feeling she got when they made eye contact for any length of time, she was angry at him. Normally, her anger would have resulted in shouting or the silent treatment, but Elliot had made it very clear to her that, if he and she were separated either by her will or by Cragen's, he was not going back to her. As much as she did not want to admit it, he was the force that kept her going, and losing him would be like losing her purpose in life. She was fairly certain that, if she did not kill herself when he left, she would turn herself into a recluse who refused to face anything but the walls of her bedroom.

So, since any discrepancy between them would result in losing him forever, her only other option was staying with him and showing him, in whatever way possible, that she was displeased. In this way, she could be mad at him, he could know it, and Cragen would have absolutely no reason to split them up. Everybody won.

"What'd you find?" Elliot asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She dared a glance up and found his face not inches from hers, his piercing eyes fixed on hers. Her head snapped back to the computer to keep with her plan, but his hand wrapped around her chin and pulled her back to look at him. Her gaze remained firmly lowered.

"Hey, look at me!" demanded Elliot. Very slowly, she shook her head, cursing the awesome power of his voice and the strong temptation of his baby blues that battled her desire to remain angry. "Why won't you look at me? Huh?" When she did not answer or meet his glare, he continued. "Three days, Liv! For three days you haven't once looked me in the eye! Why is that?" Her lips pressed tightly together. "Answer me!"

She shook her head, and he threw up his hands in disgust. "You're making this so hard, Olivia. If you won't even look at me, how can I trust you to watch my back? How can you be my partner if you won't even look at me!?"

A defiant answer rose to her lips, and she opened her mouth to spit it in his face. So he didn't think she could be his partner? Well, then maybe she should just get the heck out of dodge, huh? He didn't trust her, so she had no reason to try for him. _The next time you leave, and the next time you come back, you're on your own._ Words floated through her mind. _Don't expect me to take you back... Don't expect me to be your friend. _And the fight evaporated, just like that. "I'm sorry," she said in a soft monotone. Subdued. Obedient. Subservient. And her eyes rose to meet his.

He sighed, noticing nothing unusual. "Thanks, Liv."

Nodding, she broke his gaze and turned her attention back to the computer. "Look at this."

"Visits to 'Remnants of a Century', a store selling…oh, look at that! Artifacts from the 1800s, including weapons, clothes, farm equipment, and slave chains." Elliot frowned. "Interesting."

"Two purchases," Olivia continued. "Now, Kira was last seen on Sunday morning at her church. The first purchase was two days before that, and we're assuming those particular chains were used on her. But the second purchase was made on Wednesday, a day after she was found." She looked up, acquiescing to his request, and met his eyes. "Why would he buy another set of chains for a woman who was already dead?"

The implications of this hit Elliot, and he sighed in frustration. "He took another victim."

*** * ***

**Missing Persons – Friday, November 18**

Lieutenant Warren Bradshaw had wavy black hair, and it was clear he took pride in it, for the locks shone in the fluorescent lighting. He had an Italian look about him, and just for that, Elliot took an instant disliking to him. Perhaps it was the memory of FBI Special Agent Dean Porter, who had such a long title that it took five hours just to say, that was still fresh in his mind. Olivia, however, was smiling at him. How could she smile at this guy? Couldn't she see the way he was looking at her? Elliot glared at him, but he ignored it.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw," Olivia began, "we need to know if you've come across a case like the one you got on Tuesday. Kira Thorton?"

Bradshaw frowned unhappily. "Detective, we have hundreds of cases come through at a near constant rate. You're in Special Victims; you know what that's like. A lot of it is crap, some of it is valid and takes a few days to solve, and a few of these things gather dust on your desk because they've gone so cold they could freeze hell. You can't expect me to remember one case that, until now, was just like all the rest."

Olivia was a little taken aback by his in-passing mention of her unit. "What makes you think you know anything about Special Victims?" she demanded. Her hackles rose in defense of her victims; her strong, brave survivors and the poor angels who didn't make it.

She expected the man to quake at the knees, or at least admit contritely that he did not, in fact, know what her victims and survivors went through and what lengths she took to get them justice. What he did instead shocked her. His chin rose a few inches, and he met her brown eyes with a hardened gaze that had seen years of pain and suffering. She knew the sight was mirrored in her own stare, and she understood the right he carried with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

"I worked there," he said, confirming what Olivia had figured out. "I worked SVU for five years before I caught my last one. A twenty-year-old man raped his sixteen-year-old sister. And then, fifteen years later, he raped the daughter she had as a result. By the time we caught up with him he was seventy-five and on his great granddaughter." His mocha-colored eyes had melted into the horrors he had seen, the horror that had finally driven him away for good. Olivia had lowered her eyes, ashamed. Even Elliot felt for the man. He didn't have to like him to respect him. But Bradshaw wasn't done. "We caught him after his great granddaughter – also his daughter – came forward," he continued. "She let us do an amniocentesis to determine the parenthood of her unborn child. Her name was Lillie, she was fourteen years old, and she was having a little baby boy. Not a girl. She was probably the bravest child I had ever seen. She convinced her mother and her grandmother – also her sisters – and her aunt-slash-great grandmother to testify against him. And you know what he did?"

"Lieutenant," Olivia tried, "I'm sorry. I didn't…"

He nodded, but his eyes begged her to let him finish. She allowed it. "He had someone put her in the hospital. He put her in a coma, sued for the right to pull the plug because we couldn't prove he did it, and he got it. He got it because her mother was her sister, and her aunt did not have rights in the matter. He—" Bradshaw choked up a little and cleared his throat "—he killed her. And I couldn't take it, so I left."

Neither Olivia nor Elliot could say anything, so he continued. "I'll watch for your file, Detective Benson," he promised as his voice returned to normal. He seemed to surface from the ocean of pain that was the SVU. "I'm assuming you're looking for someone abducted today?"

"No. Wednesday," Olivia corrected, and Bradshaw asked her why, if the last set of chains was purchased two days before Kira's disappearance, she expected the killer to abduct someone right after he bought the restraints. She had no answer. He smirked until she corrected herself, "Alright then, Wednesday _or _today," and proceeded to list the specifications of what to look for. She pulled out a card and offered it to him. "If you find something," she said. And then, after further reflection, "Or if you wanted to talk to someone who speaks Special Victims."

His eyes widened at the kindness and nodded, pocketing the contact information. "I'll get right to work," he told her with a smile. She returned it, genuinely warm.

Elliot and Olivia left, and he uncharacteristically waited until they were in the car before exploding. But explode he did. "What was that?" he demanded of her once she had closed her car door and therefore could not escape. His foot pressed down on the gas pedal, though, just to be sure. He didn't take the route to the precinct, though. He headed off in the other direction, intent upon driving around Manhattan until everything was out of his system.

Very carefully, so he could see she was being as cooperative as possible, she met his gaze. "What are you talking about?" she asked. Indignation rose in her like a dragon awakened from its slumber, but she took a club and beat it down. If she blew up again, and Cragen found out, and they were split up… _When you come back, don't expect me to be your friend._

It didn't seem to bother Elliot, who immediately used her response to begin shouting. "What do you mean, what am I talking about?" he yelled. "I'm talking about you're little stunt with Bradshaw!"

Olivia's eyebrows furrowed. The dragon fumed in silence, for the moment. "What stunt?" she asked. Then, when his glare only strengthened, she decided to at least make an attempt. "You mean asking him to watch for our MO? El, I know it's not much, but..."

"No!" He cut her off swiftly, but he didn't say anything else, like she was supposed to just know what he was talking about. From the way he was acting, she wondered if he expected her to keep this partnership together all on her own. Certainly he wasn't changing anything about himself to keep them together. It was almost like he didn't care. _I won't wait for you again… Don't expect me to be there…_ She swallowed her pride and the dragon's warning flames. Instead, she pulled to the forefront of her memory everything they had done together that made their partnership so precious to her. Memories.

"_Blink your lights once when you get in," he said. The Stabler smirk on his face could not mask the protective concern that laced his tone._

_She grinned ruefully. "You're just going to sit out here, all night, until I do, aren't you? You stubborn son of a bitch."_

"_Yes, I am," he answered smoothly, and she laughed. Truthfully, she did not mind his worry as much as she led him to believe. In actuality it reinforced her firm belief that, though they had only been partners for a short time, he honestly cared about her._

She vividly remembered Richard White, and his sick games. The recollection gave her the serenity she needed to say, very calmly, "Then what, Elliot? If you tell me what's bothering you, I can apologize for it."

A frown momentarily crossed his face as he noticed her lack of response to his anger. But he was wrapped up in it now, and he just used what he perceived to be a sign of weakness and shouted all the louder. "You…you…" He stopped, thought, and started again. "Olivia, didn't you see how he was looking at you? You just gave him the reason and means to call you! _'If you wanted to talk to someone who speaks Special Victims.'_ What was that? He was hitting on you, and you encouraged it!"

No matter how hard she tried, even if she wanted to, Olivia could not get a word in edgewise. He was on a roll, and she knew the best way to ride out the wave was to just hang on and let it carry her to the shore. The problem was the ever-present dragon snarling in her chest, waiting for her guard to lower so it could attack. If she let Elliot go much longer, the beast would grow too strong and betray in its attempts to save. What was that saying? _The road to hell is paved with good intentions._

He was still going. "What was that you said to me? _'I get that you're on the rebound and everything, but if you could keep it out of work, that'd be great.'_" He laughed harshly. "Maybe you should practice what you preach, huh, Liv? What do you say? Is that so hard?"

The dragon was rising. It circled her heart, running its tail along the inside of her ribcage, and shook itself. Scales rattled, and a growl ripped from deep in its chest. _Down, girl,_ Olivia thought. _It's not worth it._ But the dragon would not be sated, and Olivia knew she had to get out of there very soon, or she would ruin everything.

"_So, are we okay?" she asked. Her knees bounced together. She had never been so uncomfortable in a conversation with him. Even when they were hollering, she was in her element. This 'talking it out calmly' thing was foreign._

_He hesitated. "I just…need…space to disagree with you," he said. "Without feeling like it's going to cost me our partnership."_

_A frown crossed her face. "You've never been gun-shy before," she commented._

"_Yeah, well… Things change." He took a sip of his drink._

It took everything in her, but she shushed her dragon and calmly addressed her partner. "El, I'm sorry. I didn't realize he was hitting, or I wouldn't have encouraged." And then she decided to give the dragon an out. It was a slim option, but perhaps it would help. So she continued, "I don't think he was being anything more than an old SVU detective with a lot of bad memories and no one to talk to. However, if what I did annoys you that much, I'll stop." Restrained brown eyes met fiery blue ones. "Is that alright?"

Her dragon was still angry. She had to leave. The car wasn't moving all that fast, so she could jump out if need be, and she could be in the precinct gym before her partner could ask where she was.

Thankfully, Elliot could not seem to think of anything more to yell at her about. It was clear that her lack of retort had diminished him to being puzzled. She congratulated herself on averting the storm, and the dragon curled up to go back to sleep, its pent-up anger leaving its body in smoke from its nostrils.

But she had spoken too soon. "You think I'm doing this for me?" he asked incredulously. "Because it annoys me? I'm doing it for you, because you can't seem to recognize a flirt when it dances naked in front of you!"

"Excuse me?" She tried locking the barn door, but the horses were already gone. Her dragon had snapped to attention like lightning, and her club had been too slow on the uptake. There was no averting the disaster now. Trouble was coming. _Three…_

And Elliot didn't seem to realize it. "You heard me!" he hollered. "Every single time it happens, I just can't believe it! Do you have any idea how many times I've driven people away because you didn't have the sense to recognize what they were doing?"

Olivia swallowed. "Elliot, stop it. Please." The dragon growled a warning. _Two…_

"I know you're street-smart, Liv, and I know your book-smart, too, but for goodness sakes, you're dumb as rocks when it comes to guys. You can't take care of yourself when it comes to these things. I have to do it for you because, if I didn't, you'd be hurt! It drives me crazy!"

"Stop it, Elliot!" said Olivia, louder. Her voice was half begging and half ordering. Inside her, she felt the dragon flexing its claws. _One…_

"You're completely clueless, and people see that, and you can't protect yourself!"

The dragon roared in fury; revenge a gleaming spark in its cunning eyes. "SHUT UP, ELLIOT!!!"

She was panting and coughing up the force of her anger. The dragon was taking control, and she was too late to stop it. She knew she had only moments left before her senses were annihilated, and she used them to cry in despair and confusion, _why?_ Why was he yelling at her? He had no right to yell at her. There was nothing to be angry about. Why did he yell? Couldn't he just let it go? They insisted upon destroying each other. Why? Why? _Why?_

Words, ready and waiting to be spat at him, an outlet for her wrath, clawed their way up her throat. They had been released by the dragon. The dragon who was breathing a scorching inferno up after the words. The dragon who was crouched in a defensive position, ready to protect her pride, the pride Olivia held so dear. The pride that defined her. Without her pride, she was nothing, and that pride would be defended with everything in her. There was no way the dragon was moving.

But _she_ could. She flung open her door. The ground moved swiftly below her, but she was ready to jump. Elliot caught her wrist. His blue eyes flared, and for just a moment she thought she saw a spark of fear in them. "You remember what I said?" he cautioned. "If you go, you can't come back."

Anger and indignation seared in her chest. "I'm not leaving," she informed him. "But I don't belong to you."

In one swift movement, she wrenched her wrist from his grasp and flung herself from the car. She rolled, tucked into a fetal position to protect herself, and finally came to a halt. She began to run, and she only realized when she arrived at the precinct steps that she was crying.

*** * ***

**SVU Squad Room – Friday, November 18**

Elliot stormed into the bullpen, furious. Olivia had gotten out of the car miles and miles from the precinct, and yet she had still gotten there before him because some semi decided it was a good time to tip over and cause a traffic jam. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he concluded that he should feel some pity for the guy, but all he could sense was anger. The only good thing stemming from the incident was that there had been a roadblock set up directly in Olivia's line to the precinct, so she had been forced to take a longer route.

"Where did she go?" he demanded of Munch.

The old man raised his eyebrows. He didn't even pretend not to know who Elliot was talking about. "Who wants to know?"

"Don't play games with me, Munch. Just tell me where she is."

"No." Munch stood, leveled his eyes with Elliot's, and frowned. "You seem to have shaken her up pretty badly," he observed coolly. "For your information, she was crying when she ran in here. She kicked her desk once, and looked up to see if Cragen saw. She looked absolutely terrified until she figured out he was in a meeting, and then she ran out again."

Elliot was about five seconds away from shaking the man. "Where did she go?" he bellowed, getting right up in his face.

Munch pushed him away with his scrawny arms. "She asked us not to tell you," he said, indicating himself and Fin, "and we plan to keep her confidence. She'll come find you when she's ready."

With a furious glare at his coworkers, Elliot stormed out of the squad in search of Olivia. Fin glanced at his partner. "That went well," he said bluntly. "You think he'll find her?"

"Probably," Munch nodded, sitting down. "But hopefully she'll be riled enough that she'll beat him to a pulp before he can do anymore damage."

*** * ***

**16****th**** Precinct Gym – Friday, November 18**

_Bam! Bam! Bam!_

Olivia slammed her fists into the bag again and again. The dragon, inside of her, raged and stormed. Her movements sped up. Tears streamed from her eyes, and her breath hitched, providing oxygen to her erratic limbs. She was out of control; she knew that. Fire burned inside her, begging for release. She had wanted to blow it in Elliot's face and watch his beautiful blue eyes reflect the flames as he burned. Oh, she had wanted to so badly.

Would he scream as he burned? Would he curse her? Olivia imagined, as she hit and kicked and punched the bag, blowing her fire in his face until he saw what he was doing to her. He would burn and flame and scream curse words at her from dawn until dusk if she could help it, because she did not want to give him a moment of release until he saw what was happening. Until he offered a solution to what in the world had happened to them.

What had happened to them? Once upon a time, they had been seamless. Benson and Stabler had practically been melded into one name. One person. She knew him. He knew her. Everything about her. Even the parts she'd rather forget. Those words had sprung to mind that day in the crib, a faint whisper, a plea, a memory of what used to be. Maybe she had said it because she was begging him to understand, to remember what it had been like before. Before. They had fallen apart, somehow. It had not been one incident, but many. Countless incidents that ate away at them like acid. Relentless. Unforgiving. Until the only thing left was the ghost of the past. Too many memories and absolutely zero understanding of what had happened.

What had happened to them? The question throbbed in Olivia's head in time with her battered body. Her fist came at the bag the wrong way, and a sharp pain shot through it. Was it broken? Or just a superfluous injury. The powerful aching sensation became a trigger. Phantom pains, memories of other abuse, floated to her mind. For the millionth time, she doubled over as Harris's nightstick rattled the bones in her back and threatened to break her ribs.

_Sealview._

It had not bothered her in a while, but different forms of recollection – her therapist called them memory pains – still made their reappearances once in a while. Sometimes she would feel the wall pressing into her face, sandwiching her between cement and her attacker's unforgiving body. Other times it would be nothing more severe than her leg muscles aching from the burning workout they were put through, and there were rare occasions where she would again feel that stupid nightstick ram itself into her body.

Careful not to jog any more unwanted memories, she curled up into a ball and waited for the pain to go away. Nobody was in there to see her, so she decided it was okay. She kept her mind carefully blank and simply absorbed the pain. That was what her therapist had told her to do, she remembered. _To get through something like this, Olivia, you can't push it away and hide from it. You have to absorb it before you can accept it and accept it before you can deal with it. It's okay to let yourself feel this. Part of the healing process is to recognize that you are alive in spite of what he did to you. Feel it. Feel it all. Feeling is good._ As humbling as it had been to go to therapy in the first place, as much as she had not wanted to attend once a week, as humiliating as it had felt to tell Cragen she was seeing someone for PTSD, good things had come from it. She had her life back, if not the way she had left it. She could sit in the park without jumping at the sound of a child running a stick through the fence bars. And, as much as she hated to admit it, the therapy may actually have improved her.

She had always run from her problems. She had hidden them away and run from them, never dealing with them, never giving them a second glance. They had just piled up until they were the Leaning Tower of Pisa, about to come toppling down. Her therapist had gone through a lot for her, tackling the more pressing issues in the stability of her tower, and teaching her how to handle the smaller things on her own. Together they had deconstructed the tower and turned it into something more manageable, like the aqua ducts of Rome. The memories flowed freely in her therapy sessions, and she had figured out that her past, every bit of it, was a contributing factor to her pain now. Everything she had buried was coming to the surface, and she could not run from something so big. Her mind's only remaining option was to swallow it whole, and she had taken in so much that it had been choking her.

Now, grudgingly, she would allow herself a good cry when things got too bad. It still did not happen very often. She did not go home every night, nurse a tear-laced glass of wine and wallow in self-pity. But every once in a while, perhaps three times so far, she sat down on her couch and let the memories wash over her until she'd gotten it all out of her system.

She moaned in surprise and pain when her injured wrist remembered how tight Harris had squeezed the handcuff around it. The wrist wasn't badly hurt, because she could twist it in an attempt to rid herself of the feel of the handcuffs. _Feeling is good._ Olivia was glad she had not said "it feels good", because it most certainly did not.

Suddenly, there was a hand on her shoulder. She rolled over and found herself looking into familiar blue eyes. Familiar blue eyes that she did not particularly want to see. When he had made her look at him, he had in essence told her that she had to look at him to be his partner.

Another rule.

He seemed to be coming up with a lot of those. She couldn't leave. She couldn't start fights. She couldn't participate in fights. She couldn't escape a fight. She couldn't talk to men without him thinking they were hitting on her. Now she had to look him in the eyes, after all this? This sounded like an abusive relationship! That was ridiculous. Olivia did not enter into abusive relationships. And if she accidentally stumbled into one, she got out of it. There was no way she was… No chance that… She stared into the blue eyes of the man she would do anything for. The whole thought line of thought was stupid. But…Was there a chance?

The eyes locked with hers.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah…I'll be okay. Just give me a minute."

"What happened?"

"Harris… The, uh, pain made another appearance."

He frowned, a worried look washing over his face. "Flashback?"

"No, no." She shook her head and slowly tried to sit up. "Just…what did you call them? Phantom pains?"

"Oh." Relief was clear, though muted, in his features. Olivia took heart in that, telling herself that maybe he still cared. Maybe he had not threatened her when he told her he would leave. Maybe what he had been doing was making sure he was not hurt as he had been the last two times she abandoned him. She clung to that thought, because that thought came with the hope that he would see what he was doing to her, and apologize.

It was a faint hope, possibly in vain, but a hope nonetheless.

So, with that in mind, she offered him the shadow of a smile. He graced her with that Stabler smirk she loved, and stood. Willingly, she took the outstretched hand he offered, and he pulled her to her feet. The pain in her wrist miraculously vanished.

"Need someone to hold the bag?" he asked.

"Do you want a turn?" she countered, and his smirk grew.

His eyes travelled it up and down. "Maybe later," he decided. "I think the poor thing needs a bit of recuperation time. What do you think?"

Olivia turned her gaze on the pitiful-looking thing. Her abuse had pounded a deep indentation in the side of it. Sweat from her skin had transferred to the plastic covering, and it was swinging. Elliot had not let go of her hand.

"I think it's time we invested in a new punching bag."

Laughing, Elliot tugged her toward the locker rooms, where she could shower and change. His fingers still firmly gripped hers, as if he were afraid of what would happen if he let go.

*** * ***

**Mercy General Hospital – Saturday, November 19**

"Eleanor, I need you to tell me what Jeremiah did to you."

Bright green eyes were filled with the fear. Another piece of Olivia's heart broke off and nuzzled against the woman, trying to provide some semblance of the comfort and healing she needed. She wondered if this case was going to make it to trial. It had taken nearly all of the poor woman's courage to call the police in the first place, and she was showing signs of backing out already.

"I…" Eleanor's pristinely white teeth scraped against her lower lip. "I don't know, Olivia. He swore to me he wouldn't do it again. When he… Well… Olivia, he was really angry. He'd had such a bad day, there are so many things going on."

Olivia took both of Eleanor's hands in hers and looked her in the eye. "Listen to me, Eleanor," she said. "Jeremiah is not going to stop. I know you want to believe that he will, but he won't. He'll keep hurting you, and he'll keep telling you he won't do it again, but then he will. Bad days happen, but they don't make you hurt people like he's done to you. Tell me what happened, and I promise he will never touch you again."

Very slowly, Eleanor nodded. "Okay," she said, and proceeded to tell her tale. She had married Jeremiah during her first year of college, and a year later she had dropped out when he graduated the police academy, and that was when he had started hitting her. When he thought he had failed one of his last examinations. Both Olivia and Elliot had jolted when she said that. A cop. One of their own. Eleanor seemed to pick up on their discomfort, however, and they quickly masked it so she would continue. Jeremiah had quickly progressed through the ranks, while his obedient wife quit her job to play Susie Homemaker.

To Elliot and Olivia's astonishment, he had then caught the attention of the FBI, who had offered him a job. He had taken it. So, not only was the abuser a law enforcement officer, he was a federal agent. Lovely. Early this morning, he had been called away for an operation in Massachusetts. When Eleanor woke up, her neighbor was banging on the door, worried. Eleanor had, in her haste, left her bathrobe loosely tied, and her neighbor had seen the bruises. She had insisted upon taking the battered woman to the hospital, soothing her and prodding her until Eleanor had the courage to tell the truth.

Olivia made a mental note to find this neighbor and personally thank her.

They spoke to Eleanor for another half-hour, and it soon became apparent that she did not want Olivia to leave. So the detective promised to wait with her until she was released from the hospital, and get her installed in a protected shelter, where she could find a job and start learning how to support herself. Deep in her heart, she tried to push away the memory of Mia, poor, sweet Mia who had died with a knife in her heart as Olivia tried vainly to save her.

This time would be different, she swore to herself as Elliot left, as Eleanor clung to her arm, as Olivia called them a cab, and again as she went through the procedures for the shelter. This time would be different. This time, she would catch the creep before he could kill her beautiful, beloved survivor.

And that was what she whispered to Eleanor as she left. "I'll get him, Eleanor," she swore. "I won't let him hurt you again." At the woman's trusting gaze, she prayed to the God she did not believe in that she could fulfill her promise.

*** * ***

**SVU Squad Room – Saturday, November 19**

Elliot watched his partner closely when she walked in the door, just before noon. He knew how much it hurt her to see victim after victim come through, hear them tell their stories that always carried the same message. This happened. Someone had hurt them this severely. The world was that cruel. He turned to his faith and his God to deal with what he saw, but Olivia didn't have that outlet, no matter how much he wished she did. To tell the truth, he didn't know what she did when she wanted to rage at whoever was running the world and tell them, in many colorful words, that they deserved to burn and die in the most painful way possible for what they allowed to happen to the most innocent of people.

Pain was etched in the slump of her shoulders, and Elliot prayed for some sort of inspiration that would tell him how to take it all away. She wiggled her mouse to bring her computer out of sleep mode, and lifted her face to gift him with a halfhearted uplift of her lips. He missed her smile. He missed the days when she would smile for him, just because his eyes had told her something. He missed seeing her beautiful eyes sparkle with laughter, like that time they had spent the better part of fifteen minutes barricading themselves in the single precinct elevator just so nobody would seem them laughing their heads off at Munch's latest conspiracy theory.

She started typing up a DD-5, her mouth tense and angry. He missed when they would do these stupid things together, him leaning over her shoulder because she was the faster typist, arguing playfully over what word fit better where. Things had seemed simpler then. They had somehow been able to respect and care for the victims just as well if not better, while still managing to stay on the boat crossing the ocean of horrors they saw every day.

That was a good analogy, and Elliot congratulated himself for thinking of it. The ocean they sailed across was one where fish simply jumped into their boat, injured and hurting, and they would fix them up as best they could, catch the animal responsible, and release the poor fish into the wild again and leave it to fend for itself. For a while in SVU, they had managed to stay on the boat. Maybe they had wobbled more times than Elliot could count, but never had they fallen. And then, for some reason, they had toppled over into the water, and the boat had left them to drown. They were treading water now, swimming for shore, helping the fish that came to them, but they were growing more and more tired. Unless they found land soon… Elliot did not want to know what would happen.

Olivia looked up, her eyes settling somewhere just above his eyes. "What?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

She nodded and turned back to her computer. Never once did she actually meet his gaze.

Irritation rose in his chest. Why couldn't she look at him? Didn't she see how much it hurt him when he couldn't see her beautiful eyes? He groaned softly and shot his partner a frustrated glare when she glanced up nervously. Nervous? What did she have to be nervous about? For goodness sakes, she had almost complete and ultimate power over him. One sentence from her could send his world straight to hell. He knew. It had already happened twice now. The third time was the charm. The next time she left him, he was absolutely certain he would not survive. And he had told her that! He had told her he wouldn't be there when she decided to come back, because he would still be stuck in hell, and he wouldn't be able to find his way back that time.

He had told her those things to keep himself sane. Keep them together.

Didn't she realize that?

Elliot ran a hand over his face and made to get up just as Olivia's phone rang.

"Benson, Special Victims." Her voice was that mixture of authority and openness that told the caller that she was a detective, she was in control, and she would listen. Elliot loved that voice. It was soothing. Calming. Reassuring.

The expression on her face changed, and he knew from it that she was talking to another cop. "Yes, I remember," she said cautiously. "Really? You found something?" Hope chanced across her pretty features, and Elliot suppressed an affectionate smile. Hope was such a wonderful thing to see on his partner's face. "Bring it over!" she told her mystery caller. "Are you at the office?" And then, "Oh, that's…uh…right across the street. Great." Her caller said something else, and Elliot watched concern flit through her eyes. "Of course. Not a problem, I told you that." She nodded against the phone. "Sure, that's fine. It'll have to be quick, because of the case, but…" With softened, almost sympathetic eyes, she said her goodbyes and hung up.

Elliot wished he had been privy to the other half of that particular conversation.

"Who was that?" he asked.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Someone you don't like."

Well, that narrowed down the suspect list, Elliot thought sourly.

Another voice entered the fray with one name on his mind. "Detective Benson?" called Lieutenant Warren Bradshaw.

Olivia spun around in her chair. "Over here, Lieutenant," she told him, and Bradshaw came over, a manila folder in his hand. Curious, Elliot rolled himself over to her desk and watched as the visitor put the file down on Olivia's desk and opened it.

"It came in yesterday, like we thought, and it's got your MO," he said, "which was really vague, by the way, but I know how that is." He gave them both a rueful smile, which only Olivia returned. "Anyway," he continued, his voice taking on a more somber tone, "I did a little digging into this, just so you'd have something to go on, and there's absolutely nothing. That's what struck me as odd. No ransom note, no footprint, no fingerprint, no DNA, no nothing. Just like your Kira, this guy just vanished."

"Guy?" Olivia interrupted.

Bradshaw nodded. "That was the one problem I found. Everything else was the exact same, so I brought it over."

"So, you brought us a guy because your gut says you're on the right track?" Elliot demanded. Frustration rose in him. He didn't know what it was about this man that irked him, but he felt the need to discredit him for some reason. Maybe it was the way he kept looking at Olivia…the way she smiled back at him, something like the smile he used to be able to elicit from her.

"Look," Bradshaw said determinedly, "I know I'm not in this unit anymore, but these things don't just leave you, and I don't think this thing is sexually motivated at all. Kira was raped, yes, and tortured, yes, but…the killer seemed to get more of a rise out of slicing and dicing her when he was done with her than the actual act of the rape."

Olivia nodded slowly. "You think the rape was just another way to torment her?"

"Yes," confirmed the lieutenant. Looking at the glowering Elliot, he added, "As you say, Detective Stabler, it's just my gut. But still, I remember from my days in this squad room that a hunch is all we had to go on, most of the time. They either turned out right or they didn't, but we always checked them out, just to be sure." His mouth twitched upward, remembering another time.

Indignation shocked him, but he knew he was pushing the limit by continuing to antagonize Bradshaw, so he looked at Olivia instead. Something about her slender fingers tracing down the pages of the file and flipping over the thin sheets was eerily calming. She looked up then. "You were right," she said. Her eyes were unhappy, filled with something Elliot thought looked unpleasantly like helplessness. "Bradshaw, there's _nothing _in here. We have nothing to go on." Brown eyes locked on Elliot, communicating with him, telling him how infuriatingly guilty she felt. "If this is his newest victim, El, there's nothing we can do with this. As of now, unless we find something else soon, we're just waiting for him to dump another body."

Elliot swore softly and took the file from her, just to check, and sure enough, she was right. They still had nothing.

Olivia was speaking again, to Bradshaw. "Are you ready?" she asked.

He nodded. "Thanks for doing this," was Elliot's first indication that he had taken Olivia up on her offer, and he felt heat trickle into his chest, ready to explode. "If it's okay with you, I actually had a place in mind."

"That's fine," she said, standing. She slid her delicate arms into her coat and looked at Elliot. "El, we're getting lunch. I'll be back in…" she glanced at the lieutenant.

"Shouldn't take more than an hour," he said.

She frowned slightly, as if worried, but continued, "Okay, I'll be back in about an hour. If you want anything…"

"I'm fine," he snapped as the heat in his chest curled and sparked at the thought of his partner, his Olivia, going off with any man for lunch. She would tell him it wasn't a date, but he was just as certain that it was.

Hurt plainly showed on her lovely face. "Alright…If you're okay with it. I mean, if you need me to stay and go over something with you, I can…"

Something inside him cracked. "Go, Olivia. Do whatever you want to. I don't care." He watched her leave then, pretending he had not seen the pain in her wide brown eyes.

*** * ***

**Outside the 16****th**** Precinct – Saturday, November 19**

Olivia did her best to put the issue with Elliot out of her mind for the moment, because she had been asked to accompany the lieutenant for the sole purpose of listening to him get some Special Victims post-traumatic stress disorder off his chest. Very quickly, she found herself enjoying keeping company with this man.

They walked. They walked because, like Olivia, Warren Bradshaw enjoyed listening to the sounds of the city while they talked. He asked her about her favorite sights of the state, and they both agreed that the best one was no longer standing. However, she told him she loved Madison Square Park, and she said she thought that, while the Statue of Liberty was unceasingly awe-inspiring, it was too crowded with tourists to be a good spot for just sitting and thinking. Bradshaw told her of his favorite place for just that, a secluded area of the woods where his grandfather had left him, the only boy amidst a herd of girls, a cabin. Around the cabin, there was a small clearing around a little waterfall. That was his retreat place, he said, and for a few days each month, he took off and went up there to clear his mind. To get away from it all.

Olivia thought it sounded lovely.

Then he told her about his many sisters and female cousins, and how they had made sure he knew the value of taking good care of one's physical appearance. That, Olivia realized, explained why his black hair was so meticulously groomed, and she laughed at the thought of a young Bradshaw being surrounded by girls as they explained to him the uses of various shampoos and conditioners. He asked what was so funny, and when she told him he confirmed that it had been exactly like that. Except he had been pinned to the ground during lessons.

Their destination was maybe a fifteen minute walk away and turned out to be a small café that, unlike some Olivia had seen, did not boast 'the world's best cup of coffee' or 'the best cherry pie in all of Manhattan'.

"They're modest," Bradshaw told her. "I've been a regular here since I was a kid coming home from school, and I'm good friends with the owners. They're a very humble, down-to-earth couple. They take what they can get, and not a penny more. Different work hours on Saturdays, closed on Sundays and school holidays. They know their workers really well, they've met their families, their children, their husbands and wives… It's a great atmosphere."

Olivia smiled. "Sort of wish my job was like that."

Bradshaw chuckled. "Yeah, well, I'll tell all our rapists and murderers they can only shame the human race between the hours of twelve and four in the afternoon, and that they should spend Thanksgiving and Christmas in the Bahamas, sipping piña coladas."

"Don't forget their all-expenses-paid trips to Aruba during Easter," Olivia added.

Both were laughing, a little sad, a little wistfully, a little surprised at how easy it was to crack these bitter jokes when they knew they were both on the exact same page. Neither had to pretend to not be broken, because the other was just as shattered. Olivia liked this easy conversation. Something in her said it was like how she and Elliot used to be, this comfortable talk about nothing and, at the same time, everything. She realized then just how much she missed it. How much she wanted it back. How much she needed it to survive.

When they walked into the café, they were greeted by a snowy-haired woman who threw her arms around Bradshaw and kissed him soundly. "Warren!" she exclaimed. "I was wondering when you were going to show up!" And she led him over to a table and sat him down. Olivia followed awkwardly in their wake, unsure of what to do. "It's getting a little past lunchtime, Warren. You normally show up at noon on the dot. Why are you late?" Her hazel eyes fixed on hi with what was supposed to be a reprimanding glare, but the smile on her lips ruined the effect.

Bradshaw smiled affectionately at the woman. "I had some work things to take care of first, Lil."

"Ahh, work," she said with a wink, "I know what that's like. And who's your friend?" She beamed at Olivia, who shifted uncomfortably.

"Lil, meet Olivia Benson," said the lieutenant, making introductions. "Olivia Benson, this is Lillian Hardwicke, a co-owner here."

The woman nodded to her. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Benson."

"Please, Mrs. Hardwicke, it's Olivia," she said with a smile.

"Then I'm Lillian."

They shook hands. Lillian's hands were callused and worn, the hands of a woman who worked for the meal she cooked in the evening. "And what do you do, my dear?" she was asked.

Olivia bit her lip. This was a question she hated, no matter how many times she was asked, and there was no way to avoid it, either. _What do you do for a living, Olivia? Oh, what was that? Look at the time! I must be going._ Or, _So, how about them Yankees, huh? Oh, where do I work? Umm…interesting you should ask that… Hey, do you think it's going to rain today?_ She took a breath in preparation, but her companion came unexpectedly to her aid.

"She works SVU," he said, "Like I used to, Lil."

Lillian nodded solemnly and suddenly took Olivia's hands in both of her own. Hazel eyes met brown ones, and she said seriously, "You are a brave woman, Olivia. Warren told me a little about Special Victims years ago, so I've heard stories…" A shudder ripped through her, and her grip tightened. Olivia couldn't look away from her. "Thank you," said Lillian. "From the bottom of my heart, thank you for what you do."

Olivia couldn't speak. She let Bradshaw order her something off the menu she didn't see as she slowly took in what she had been told. What she had been thanked for. She had never been thanked like that before, by some woman she barely knew, who was not a victim but just a random person she had run into. The only times she really got thanked for her work was when the perps she caught were arrested and behind bars. No one thanked her for doing their job. They tended to wish her job wasn't needed. Soft fingers grazed her hand, and she jumped back to the present.

"Detective Benson?" Bradshaw looked slightly uncomfortable. "Sorry, I just…you looked a little out of it, so…"

She smiled. "That's okay, Lieutenant. And please, would you call me Olivia?"

"Okay, Olivia," said Bradshaw, "You can call me either Ishmael or Warren. Your choice."

Olivia laughed again, even though it was probably one of the poorest attempts at humor she had ever heard. Laughing about nothing. She tried to ignore the curl of pain that wound its way through her chest. "No 'lieutenant' anymore, either?"

"Ishmael sounds better."

Her eyebrows rose, and she shrugged. "I guess it does have a nice ring to it…"

Lillian arrived to another bout of laughter, and placed their food in front of them without a word. A blackened, charbroiled chicken sandwich for Bradshaw; and a light, creamy pasta with spice-coated fish for Olivia. She sized it up curiously.

Her companion was amused. "It's angel hair pasta in a lemon butter sauce. The fish you see is halibut, and it's coated in assorted spices."

"Uh…" she shifted uncomfortably. "My New Year's resolution a year or two ago was to learn to cook, but I don't exactly speak 'chef'."

Bradshaw smirked. "Well, why don't I just say that ti's Lil's specialty, and it's quite good."

Olivia shrugged and took a fork, twirling the pasta around it and spearing a piece of fish before sticking it in her mouth and chewing carefully. "Oh, wow," she said. "It's excellent!"

"Yes, it is," agreed the lieutenant, who was doing something odd with his chicken. He had taken a steak knife and fork, and was slicing up his meal into small bite-sized pieces. Olivia watched with interest as he stabbed a mini-sandwich and ate it. He caught her looking and grinned. "Never seen a guy do this before? It's another thing my sisters drilled into me." Adopting a breathy falsetto, he mocked, _"Don't get all that sauce stuff on your face, Warnie. It doesn't look nice. Cut it up, for goodness sakes, Warnie, and eat it like a human being, not a wild animal."_

Laughter was becoming commonplace with this man, Olivia noticed. She would have to get used to this. Surely it wouldn't be hard. After all, she liked it. A lot. _"Warnie?"_ she asked. "They called you 'Warnie'?"

"Yep. Humiliating, but true. And it took years to get the habit out of Lil and Jeff. That's her husband," he explained at Olivia's blank look. She grinned.

"So," she began, "you said you wanted to talk. If you still want to, I'm listening."

The atmosphere thickened just slightly with the memories weighing heavily on them both. Bradshaw hesitated. "I…I don't really know where to start, Olivia. I spent five years in that unit, and…I saw things that… Dear God, I saw the lowest of the low. The case I told you about yesterday, it was only one of many. I can't… I don't…" He sighed. "Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces. The survivors, they're murdered in my nightmares. And the ones whose cases went cold yell at me every night. They ask me why I didn't find their killer. Why don't they have justice? And I can't…answer them. I saw so much in SVU, and it didn't leave me when I left, like I hoped it would. It's my nightmares. I see it on the streets. In the cases I get, I automatically search for the signs of a sexually related abduction." His eyes turned on Olivia. "I'm friends with one of the guys in Computer Crimes, and he told me you took one look at six of his cases and sent them to SVU. You know what I mean. These things don't leave you."

Olivia listened as he talked, and she found she could relate to a lot of the things he described. He told her about a few victims that were most prevalent in his mind, some of the perps he'd reserved a special circle of hell for, and one crime scene that was so gruesome the entire squad spent a sleepless night in the crib together. She suggested therapy, and he said he already tried. What he needed was something that had scared away the man assigned to help him. Besides, as Olivia knew too well, a Special Victims detective didn't like shrinks delving into his mind. When it seemed like he had finally gotten it all out of his system, he was breathing heavily.

The only thing Olivia said was, "Feel better?"

"You know," Bradshaw said with a surprised laugh, "I think that helped."

Olivia smiled. "Good. Now, I have to get going, because my partner is waiting for me."

"Wait."

She stopped, turned, and waited. Bradshaw took a deep breath and seemed to gather himself. "Olivia, can… Can we do this again? Maybe take a walk, or get lunch, or something? I…enjoyed it."

"As your unofficial, untrained therapist?" asked Olivia. "Or as your friend?"

"Friend." He bit his lip and continued. "This was…well, not fun, per se, but I did enjoy it. Being able to talk to someone without pretending to be…" Fumbling for a word, he passed a hand over his face.

"Whole?" Olivia suggested. He nodded. "Okay, but with two conditions," she said. "One: you don't get mad at me if I have to cancel because of the job… And two: we come here again soon, because this was delicious."

He grinned. "Deal. Now go catch a killer."

* * *

**Can I ask you what your opinion is on Lieutenant Warren Bradshaw? What do you think of him?**

**~ally**


	6. Forgiveness

**SAINTS WON THE SUPER BOWL!!! In honor, I shall post a chapter for you. Shout-out to urbanslang16 for help with the flashback/dream sequence for this update! Also, there seems to have been some confusion. This is an EO story. I'm not entirely sure how much EO I'll be able to fit in before Elliot…*gulp*…walks through the Pearly Gates into Heaven, but there will certainly be some. Bradshaw is not a bad guy, per se, but… Well, he's not…exactly… How to put this? Let's just say: they don't end up together.**

**Disclaimer: You know how they say, "I Dream of Jeannie"? Well, I Dream of Owning the Rights to SVU. But I dream. That's all I do.**

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* * *

**Hospital Room of Olivia Benson – January 30**

"_That place is a big grope spot," Elliot said, as though it were completely obvious. Olivia stopped paying attention to what he said so she could watch his mouth move from this angle. It was quite hypnotic actually, and she got so lost in his jaw muscles – as odd as that sounded – until she caught his words. "Romantic teenagers…spouses…coworkers…" He glanced at her._

_Had he really just said that? It took all she had not to burst out laughing right then and there. She offered him a chuckle and nearly winked, but in the end she deemed it too obvious for the situation._

_They'd been there once, actually. In the park one day, they were throwing a Frisbee on their day off. Kathy had taken the kids to Niagara Falls for the weekend and left Elliot home alone. Needless to say, he had called her and asked if she was sick of him yet, and, if not, would she like to spend a day in Central Park? Again needless to say, she had said yes. Spending a day off with Elliot? There was nothing she would have liked better._

_So, Central Park it had been. They had met, talked for a little while, shared an enormous hot dog for lunch, and then Elliot had mentioned the Frisbee. He told her about his recreational attempts and failures at playing Ultimate Frisbee in college, and she admitted that she had actually played it competitively for her school. Since Elliot swore he could probably throw _her_ farther than he could throw the disk, Olivia had decided he was worth teaching. Her offer to purchase one herself had quickly been quashed, and Elliot strode right into the first little shop he could find, emerging minutes later with the exact Frisbee she had described to him. She'd spent the better part of two hours guiding his hand, wrist, and shoulder through each motion, and by the end of the day they were drawing up tactical maneuvers. He had actually been quite good, once he figured out how to flick his wrist "just so"._

_They had been having so much fun that they hadn't even noticed the sun going down. It wasn't until Olivia's watch, set for seven pm, beeped that she skidded to a halt. Elliot, not expecting this, collided with her, and they fell to the ground in a heap. Being the gentleman that he was, Elliot had pulled her into his arms and twisted his body, thereby saving her from the brunt of the fall. She rolled immediately out of his arms and helped him to his feet, barely able to keep her own because she was laughing so hard._

"_Dinner?" he'd suggested. She'd agreed, and they'd wandered around, looking for a place._

_Eventually, they plopped down in some random area with a pretzel and started gnawing on it. Olivia had looked up, though, when she realized they were not alone._

"_El?" she'd muttered, staring at their company._

_He'd glanced over. "Yeah?"_

_That pretzel rebelled against his stomach, and they left quickly, leaving the couple to experiment with how close they could come to actually having sex in public without being arrested for it._

_She chuckled, remembering that day. They had both been so embarrassed, but their laughter was so strong that any awkwardness had dissipated by the time Elliot pulled up to Olivia's apartment building. He passed her the Frisbee. "Here," he said. "For next time."_

_When he left, the biggest grin broke over her face. _Next time,_ she thought. There would be a next time._

Don had left a little bit ago, and now it was John who stood guard over Olivia. She still hadn't responded to anything he said or did. She was still comatose. But, for a split second, John could have sworn he saw her lips twitch.

* * *

**Saint Paul Catholic Church – Sunday, November 20**

"Six words," said Father Benjamin from the pulpit, looking out at all the faces he could see. "Six simple words. That's all I have to talk about today. That's all I need to talk to you about. Just six words, and I bet you won't guess what they are." His eyes scanned the crowd. "Even though you should be able to. God our Father wants us to know these words inside and out. They define our relationship with Him, how we are saved. He wants these words to be second nature to us. Words we use automatically, without ever having to think about them. Three of these are the words we should tell the Lord every day, and the other three are the words He returns to us. These words are possibly the most powerful words you will ever encounter, and you learned them at such a young age, and yet they're so rarely used. Much less frequently than they should be."

Something stirred in Father Benjamin, and he knew it was God, telling him who he needed to speak to. Searching the congregation for one family, one person in particular, he continued, "Can anyone guess what these words are yet? No? That's okay." His eyes locked on the man he had been searching for. _Is this right, God?_ He asked, and something inside told him yes.

"The first three words," he told the man he stared at, "are 'I am sorry'." The man stared back at him impassively. "I'm sorry," Father Benjamin continued. "You can even shorten it to two words. So simple. And yet how many of you would have guessed those words? Let's see a show of hands." There were a few hands tentatively raised in the air, but most of his listeners lowered their eyes uncomfortably.

"That's what I thought. We need to learn the importance of these words if we are to have a successful relationship. Not just with the Holy Father, but with humans as well. Husbands, wives, children, relatives, friends…" He paused. "Things build up over the years, both in human relationships and our relationship with the Creator. Some of these things we don't even know about. Maybe we didn't consider them all that important, and unbeknownst to us, they hurt one of our friends. Other things are problems we're ashamed to talk about, even to the One who already knows more about them than we do. We foolishly think that, if we can avoid talking about them, we can make them go away. We can't."

Father Benjamin was now circling the edge of the pulpit, looking at everyone, but his eyes always returned to the man he was almost certain this message was intended for. "We cannot hide things from our family and friends, and we certainly cannot hide things from our Father in Heaven. So that's where these words come into play. As much as we can, we should apply these words to our lives. Use them. That's what they're there for. If you do something wrong, don't be afraid to apologize. Say, 'I am sorry,' and see what happens. Anyone worth your apology will forgive you, if not immediately then with time. Your Father loves you, and He will most certainly grant it if you just have the humility to ask His forgiveness."

There was a pause, as the priest collected his thoughts, and allowed his congregation to mull over what he had said. Only the man he was speaking to remained staring resolutely forward.

"I know many of you are going through hard times right now. Maybe there has been a death in your family, maybe your children are acting out and you don't know why, maybe you and a close friend are having a disagreement, and you don't remember starting it or what you did to cause it, but you did something." He was on the right track now. The man's eyes flickered with acknowledgement and guilt. "Well, let me tell you something. I don't know the details of what's going on in your lives right now, but I do know that your Savior Jesus Christ preaches humility and forgiveness.

"Humble yourselves for the person or Being you are angry with. Apologize. Tell them, 'I am sorry.' And I can almost guarantee that, be they the Most High God or a wife or a child or a friend or a coworker, they will give you back those final three words. Chances are, they care about you and are just waiting for you to have the strength and humility to say you were in the wrong. And if they care about you, then they'll say these three words. They will say, 'I forgive you.' If someone has wronged you, and they are humble enough to apologize, then say these words back. Forgiveness is divine for a reason. Grudges can only hurt, but forgiveness… Forgiveness strengthens relationships."

His eyes skimmed the crowd one more time before returning his focus to the man who looked almost like he were holding back tears. Though Father Benjamin knew this man would never cry. Rarely did this man cry. "You cannot expect forgiveness to come before the apology; you have to take the first step. But chances are, if your relationship with God or someone else is suffering, all it really needs is those six words for it to begin the healing process."

Locking eyes with Elliot Stabler, he hoped that his message had made an impression.

* * *

**Alvarez Residence – Sunday, November 20**

Little Caleb Alvarez had new bruises. That was the first thing Olivia noticed when he answered his door that afternoon. Nevertheless, his smile was just as wide when he saw her, and he bounded into her arms. "Olivia! You came back!" His adorable little voice pierced her heart as she hugged him, and she asked herself the question she asked with all her younger victims: Who would want to do this to such a precious, sweet child?

"Yes, I did, Caleb," she said, presenting his mother with a small smile as she wandered over to the door. Both mother and son had immediately taken to Olivia when she showed up at the hospital, just when Caleb was being discharged. She had asked a few more questions, following up on what Elliot had said about inconsistencies, and she had finally gotten Carmine Alvarez to admit that she was an illegal immigrants. Olivia had assured her many times that she was not in any way connected to immigration and would not report them. Carmine had asked her if the American courts would still try Caleb's rapist, even though his mother was not a U.S. citizen, and Olivia had assured her that they would. The blow of a rape was not softened just because the victim's mother had illegally entered the country.

"So, how are you doing?" she asked the child in her arms. Carmine led her into the living room of their house and motioned for her to sit on the couch, which she did, and Caleb situated himself in her lap. For her part, Olivia had absolutely no idea why these two seemed to like her so much, but she liked them both as well, so it appeared to be a win-win situation.

Caleb rested his head on her shoulder and yawned. "I'm tired," he said unnecessarily.

Smiling, Olivia glanced at the boy's mother, who laughed. "You didn't go to sleep when I told you to, did you?" she asked. Caleb hid his face in Olivia's shirt and shook his head. "Caleb, you go to bed early tonight," Carmine ordered.

"_Si,_ Mama," he said.

The first time she had met them, Olivia had been very impressed by both mother and son's handle of English. It was far from Carmine's native tongue, but she spoke it as well as any native-born American, and probably better than some. Caleb was a very intelligent child, fluent in both Spanish and English. Olivia had asked Carmine where she had learned English, and she said she had been taught by American missionaries when she was little. They had set up schools, and Carmine had been at the top of her class. She attended the best medical college Mexico had to offer, been ready to start her life, and then it had taken a turn for the worse.

Halfway through Carmine's medical school, her mother had contracted an unknown illness, and her father quit his job to take care of her. When the illness put her mother in a coma, her father had promised to find a source of income so that he could keep her alive until Carmine could come to see her. She had not been able to leave medical school until graduation, but when she came home, she had a nasty surprise. The money her father was making had come from selling drugs. All the highest-paying jobs he had looked at required a college graduation, something he had not possessed, despite his intelligence. So he had turned to drugs because they paid well and were reliable. Her mother died, her father went to prison, and the Mexican drug dealers went after her, because her father owed them money. Carmine fled to the U.S. and married José Alvarez, who got her a well-paying job and then died a few years later.

Olivia felt this was proof that bad things happened to good people. There was no telling how, what where, when, why, or who.

She spoke to the mother and son for the better part of an hour, gathering tidbits from both of them that she was slowly piecing together into a disgusting puzzle. When Carmine had admitted she was an illegal immigrant, she had said nothing more after that. Olivia had been left with absolutely no idea of what had happened. Today, though, with Olivia doubling as a friend, the woman was a little more open. This loosened little Caleb's tongue as well, and, taking his cues from his mother, the boy told Olivia everything he knew about his family. But he never once mentioned his father.

When Olivia questioned this, Carmine's mouth clamped shut. Curiosity sparked in Olivia's mind, but she valued the trust and conversation over this silence, because she figured that, if they spoke for long enough, Carmine would eventually be reassured enough to trust her with this information. The information that Olivia suspected was the key to the investigation.

Footsteps could be heard in the hallway, and then the sound of a knock on the door.

Immediately, Caleb started. He shrank into Olivia's side and started to cry.

"Shh," she whispered to the boy. "Shh, Caleb, it's okay." She shot a confused, suspicious glance at his mother, who bit her lip and shrugged. The knocking renewed with greater force, and three things happened. Carmine rose to get the door. Caleb pulled himself closer to Olivia and pressed his face into Olivia's chest. Olivia, not knowing what else to do, wrapped her arms around him, stroked his hair, and shushed him gently.

"Hello, you two!" came a jovial, male voice. "I missed you today."

There were sounds in the entryway, like a husband and wife's 'welcome home' kisses and whispers, and Caleb pulled himself from Olivia's arms. She followed him as he bolted into his bedroom. "Caleb?" she whispered. He was curled up in the corner, shivering. Quickly, she went to him and wrapped her arms around his small frame, trying to comfort him while her mind processed this new information. She had a very strong suspicion now that this man was Caleb's attacker. "Caleb?" She spoke quietly in his ear, "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Caleb! Come here!" The man who had entered the apartment called.

Carmine's voice followed, with only the barest hint of a tremor distinguishable. "Sweetheart, come say hello to Julio."

Unsteadily, Caleb slipped out of Olivia's embrace and stood. He was shaky, but his little boy's face was full of sweet courage, mixed with fear. Olivia took one look at that face and knew the child wasn't just going to tell her who did this to him. Whoever this 'Julio' person was, he held something big over little Caleb's precious head. She made a decision. Even if she could not immediately learn whether or not Julio hurt Caleb, she could remain a comfort to the boy. He trusted her; that much was clear. So why couldn't she stay true to that trust? Without a word, she offered her hand, and Caleb grabbed onto it tightly, as though he were afraid to let go, and together they went into the sitting room.

The man called Julio was tall, well-build, and sophisticated-looking. From the suit, tie, and briefcase surrounding him, Olivia guessed at some high-paying, prestigious job that paid more per month than she made in a year. Then again, that wasn't hard.

His eyes, a muddy brown, narrowed as they locked on her face. Deliberately, they travelled down her body, taking note of everything that he deemed noteworthy, not the least of which happened to be her belt, which held her gun and shield.

"What's she doing here?" he demanded. His smooth, sharp voice was not particularly loud, but it was condescending, and it carried enough authority to make Olivia feel uncomfortable. It was one of those voices she hated hearing, because they always reminded her of the perps they caught. The ones who were always one step ahead of them, laughing in their faces when they blundered right into another one of their traps.

Carmine had her back to the wall, watching the man. Despite her defensive, frightened aura, she seemed for all physical appearances, to be the loving wife. Her posture gave nothing away, and neither did her eyes. Had Olivia not been able to literally feel the fear exuding from her, she would have been convinced. Those eyes darted to meet hers at Julio's question. _What do I say?_ They asked.

Olivia stepped forward before she quite had a plan. "I'm Katrina, a friend of Carmine's, sir. I haven't spoken to her in a while, and I just came over to see her and Caleb." She spoke calmly, mostly for Carmine and Caleb's benefit. She could see the tense muscles in the woman's neck relax somewhat, and Caleb's grip on her hand loosened slightly.

Julio frowned and turned to Carmine. "Darling, shouldn't you have introduced us already?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," said Carmine, stepping forward. "Julio, this is K-Katrina…"

She shot her another glance, and Olivia jumped in with a small laugh, "I married since we last saw each other, Carmine." Walking over to the man, she shook his proffered hand. "Katrina Lewis," she introduced herself, pulling out her Sealview undercover name. It was good enough, she thought. He knew she was a cop, but he didn't know what crimes she investigated, and she assumed he would be the type to run a background check. The name wouldn't hold up under scrutiny, but hopefully it would suffice until they could find some hard evidence to charge him with something. With any luck, Huang had left the "bulletproof cover" in place after two years.

"Julio Martinez," was his reply. And then, looking her up and down once more, he stood and said firmly, "Mrs. Lewis, I must insist you leave now. Carmine, Caleb and I have some matters to discuss, and I would prefer they be kept private."

Olivia pursed her lips, but she could not object without cause, and she had nothing that would hold up in court at the moment. So she nodded curtly and pulled Caleb into a comforting hug. She did the same for Carmine, who squeezed her tightly. _"Who is he?"_ she breathed in the woman's ear.

"_My employer,"_ replied Carmine.

Outside the apartment, Olivia slipped a business card under the empty apartment next door and pulled out her ringing phone. "Yeah, El…" She listened momentarily and then swore.

*** * ***

**Dewitt Clinton Park – Sunday, November 20**

Olivia ducked under the crime scene tape and hurried over to her partner, who was standing unhappily beside Warren Bradshaw. "Another one?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Pushing past Bradshaw, Elliot nudged her in the direction of the body and nodded. "James Blackhurst, age thirty-nine. Missing since Friday. Raped, mutilated, chained, blood all over the scene. Same MO."

She stared down at the man's body sorrowfully. When she had interviewed his wife Kelly a few days ago, the woman had shown her a picture. Kelly and James were wrestling playfully on a picnic blanket. James had his wife in a headlock and was kissing her cheek; Kelly grinned at the camera, tugging at her husband's arm with her eyes sparkling. What had drawn Olivia in was the utter ease with which they played around. She saw in their antics, the way he kissed her, the way her fingers splayed over his forearm with every muscle in her body loose, somehow… In this she saw pure, unaltered love. There was just something about his eyes and what they held. It was a happy medium between happiness, teasing, and perhaps a shadow of desire. Not enough to look overly inappropriate, but the perfect amount to show they were comfortable with each other.

Something in the picture – possibly the smooth, carefree way they balanced business with pleasure in a public place – reminded her of the first year she had been partnered with Elliot. Their banter…their flirting…their teasing…how easy physical contact was… She missed it. Perhaps somewhere inside her, she had been hoping to see it again, when she found James. But no. She looked into the dead man's eyes, and all the sparkle was gone. They were flat. Blank. Cold. Lifeless.

Dead.

She had the sudden urge to find a mirror, just so she could prove to herself that her eyes did not carry the same emptiness.

"This is the guy whose file I gave you," added the oblivious Bradshaw, smoothly maneuvering his way between the partners and putting a hand on Olivia's forearm. She jerked it out of his reach and shot him an angry look. Immediately, he backed off.

"Sorry," he said.

Olivia frowned for a moment. She had not wanted to be touched at that moment. Elliot wouldn't have touched her. From the knowing gaze he had fixed on her now, she was sure he wouldn't have touched her. He would have understood. And that was the source of her anger at Bradshaw. "One thing you will learn very quickly, Warren," she said, voice expressing her displeasure, "is that I can handle myself without help from you." Her gaze never left his while he shifted uncomfortably under her piercing stare.

"Very true, and I apologized, Olivia. I don't know everything about you yet, alright?"

Her anger did not want to dissipate, but she knew irrationality when she felt it. Bradshaw had not known she wanted to be left alone to her thoughts. Bradshaw was not Elliot. Getting mad at him would do her no good, but it would certainly spell tension between them. She did not want tension between them. Taking a deep breath, she forced her eyes to soften.

"You'll learn," she said.

*** * ***

**SVU Squad Room – Monday, November 21**

It was two minutes past midnight. For some reason, Olivia found that distinction very important. It was two minutes into the new day. It was not still Sunday, it was Monday now. A new day.

She remembered countless nights as a child, where she would sit on the counter in her mother's kitchen and stare at the clock, waiting for the minute hand to move from the twelve to the one. Her mother had always come home by midnight, generally by eleven thirty, because she knew she had a responsibility to her daughter. When she came home, it was to ensure that Olivia got to bed on time; that she was getting enough sleep; that she could handle herself in the morning, when both mother and child would be facing another day.

Olivia had always considered the process of changing to a new day very significant. It was as though everything that had taken place on the previous day was wiped off the slate, and with the change of the clock, she was granted another chance. On the nights she did not have a case occupying her, and even on some of the nights that she did, she would always do her very best to watch the clock when the new day came around. Whatever she had done, no matter how horrible, was supposed to leave her at midnight. All her worldly transgressions of the day vanished, and she felt cleaner than she had since…well, the night before.

Three minutes now, and she congratulated herself on not having committed any sin – at least none that she knew of – that would mar the perfection she felt.

For three minutes and counting, Olivia Benson had been pure.

It sounded so strange when she thought of it that way. Pure. There were some scars, she knew, that didn't go away. Her fingers unconsciously found their way to her throat, tracing the reminder of how true that was. But, in the loosest sense of the word, she was clean. Good. Pure. That was she only way she could find to describe it. In three – no, four minutes, she had not consciously lied, stolen, cheated…killed. Or done anything else that would be worthy of reprimand. She was quite proud of herself.

What hurt most, though, was that no matter what she did, those vices would come. She would tell a weeping mother that they would find the person who killed her child, while unsure in her heart if she believed it herself. She would wiggle her way out of some horrible situation, using as severe words or actions as were warranted. Who knew? Today might be the day that she committed her third murder.

She wasn't sure if she believed in God, but if He did exist, she wondered what he thought of her. Elliot believed in a forgiving Diety, one who could look at the most cruel, sadistic killer and still claim him as His own. Elliot believed in a God who loved unconditionally, without the need of provocation, limitation, or boundaries. A God who was proud to call someone His child. In Olivia's mind, that was far too good to be true. Unconditional love was something for fairy tales, not the real world. True love was something that far too many people never knew in their lives. There were the lucky few who managed to find it, but they were rare entities.

The woman who suffered at the hands of her abusive husband had never known true love. The young man who had been molested by his father since he was old enough to walk had never felt the warm, tingly feeling that spread across his body and set his world on fire. The little girl whose conception had been the result of her mother's rape on a college campus…the little girl whose mother regretted her birth…the little girl who looked too much like her father to let her mother cuddle her after a nightmare…the little girl that Olivia had grown up as… That little girl had never known true love.

And now, decades later, that little girl didn't deserve true love. Much less the unconditional love of a God she had never spoken to once.

What did God think of her? If Olivia continued under the assumption that this God existed, what did He think of her? She, who lied on a daily basis. She, who had entered into more physical relationships with men than she dared to remember, just because her heart had been hurting. She, who had killed two people. Two human beings. Two of this God's children. What did He think of her? Because even though Olivia had not been blessed with children, she was absolutely certain that, if she had, she would destroy the lives of anyone who dared to touch them.

How much more fierce would this hatred be when experienced by a Being who not only had everything, but who loved everything?

Her fax machine beeped. Taking the early-morning gift it was offering, she read the first line. _"Preliminary Autopsy Report for the State of New York, Manhattan."_ A _ping_ from her computer indicated that she had mail. Silently, because there was no need for words when she was the only one present, she opened the email.

**From: Melinda Warner: **

**To: Olivia Benson**

**Subject: Autopsy Report**

_May I go home now?_

Olivia sighed. Wondering about what God would say about her questionable religious holiness would get her nowhere fast. She typed out a quick "thank you" to Melinda, along with the promise that she could now go to sleep, and began poring over the autopsy report.

Very quickly, she lost herself in the medical terminology, and by the time her head hit her desk out of sheer exhaustion, she knew two things.

First: the autopsy report was practically a photocopy of Kira Thorton's, right down to the use of a hammer to fit the shackles to James Blackhurst's wrists.

Second: she had spent an entire hour of today with a perfect, spotless, clean slate.

* * *

"_Liv… Liv…"_

Someone was shaking her, saying her name in that beautiful voice, the voice she had been dreaming of only moments before. Why wouldn't he let her sleep? She was warm and comfortable… No, scratch that. Her back had started to ache, clueing her in to the fact that she was not, in fact, comfortable in the least. Well, if the voice was smart enough to know that, she should probably make more of an effort to pay attention to him.

Slightly annoyed, she opened one eye, only to find herself staring into a wide, concerned set of blue eyes, not ten inches from her face.

Startled, she reeled backwards, sending her chair flying backwards. Her head spun at the sudden change of position, and she fought to keep from falling over. But then he was there, holding her up, gently pulling her to her feet and holding her steady.

"Come on, Liv," he whispered. "Cragen will kill you if he finds you sleeping at your desk."

Ever so gently, Elliot wrapped an arm around her waist to lead her upstairs, to the crib. Olivia somehow found the presence of mind to pull out of his grasp, because the fire coursing through her veins was to the point of burning her. She swayed, though, her equilibrium still sluggish from her impromptu wake-up call, and Elliot had to catch her again. This time he did not bother with her balance. He lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Too tired to react appropriately, she gave up and curled into his chest, nearly falling asleep in his arms before he repositioned himself on one of the crib's many beds.

She accepted the change and pretended this was not her partner; rather he was an Elliot-shaped pillow that she was perfectly welcome to sleep on. She rested her head against his shoulder, let him pull her legs over his lap, and did not protest or move when he lay back more on the mattress so that he, too, could be as comfortable as she.

The fire in her veins had dulled into peace, and she let her eyes close. Never did she allow her mind to wonder why he was here before Cragen, nor why he smelled undeniably of sex.

* * *

Cragen scanned his detectives, making eye contact with each one. "So, are we all in agreement that the murder of Kira Thorton and the murder of James Blackhurst were committed by the same person?"

There were nods all around. Olivia had given them all an update earlier that morning, so everyone was on the same page. She had also told them about the curious and rather disgusting piece of evidence Melinda had found shoved down Blackhurst's throat.

_Let us usher in the dawn of black power._

"I wonder if he's heard that we finally have a black president?" Fin quipped, rather displeased with this man's brazen, unforgiving attitude. Yes, African Americans had been held in slavery for centuries. This was a blot on human history, a horrible smear of blood and death that should never have existed in the first place, and nobody, Fin especially, was denying that what had occurred because of human arrogance was despicable. However, changes had been made since then. Actions had been taken to ensure that equality did mean for all. While this did nothing to detract from the horror that had taken place, the country was taking steps to rectify the wrongs. They had black actors, police, businessmen, senators, and even a black president. Even those who did not like President Obama could not deny that a black president was a major landmark for the country towards an apology.

Of course, that was something that had yet to occur. All five present remembered watching on television, and hearing on the news, the prime minister of Australia go on the air and speak to the entire country of Australia as he apologized to the Aborigines for what had been done to them by the settlers.

America had yet to take that step. But it could not be denied that they were making progress. To threaten and diminish the significance of this progress… Fin in particular was indignant.

There were no prints on the note, and nothing particularly identifying. The note had been typed and printed at a home computer. The stationery was plain white paper, nondescript, which had been rolled up tightly and shoved down Blackhurst's throat postmortem with what Melinda had determined to be a pencil.

A pencil that had been found at the crime scene, bearing the logo of Mercy General Hospital.

When Elliot heard this, he leapt off the corner of Olivia's desk and said it was Kingsley's, and that they should arrest him. Reason caught up with him moments later, and he listened, subdued, as Cragen reminded him of the hundreds of people who passed through Mercy every day and could have taken such a pencil. As far as Olivia was concerned, Kingsley was toying with them. He was giving them just enough to be sure it was him, while not allowing them the physical evidence they could take to court. There were no fingerprints on the pencil, and no distinguishing marks that would indicate their favorite suspect's guilt.

Once again, they were without leads and had nowhere to go. Leaning back in her chair with a sigh, Olivia studied her partner. The clothes he had worn last night were wrinkled, but they would do for the day. Cragen had not yet commented on them, though Olivia knew it was only a matter of time. There was no five o'clock shadow on Elliot's face, and while Olivia rather preferred the rugged look on her partner, she was grateful that their captain would not yell at him about that as well. His head was turned, and Olivia indulged herself in examining his profile. The strong bridge of his nose, the hard set of his mouth, the curve of his chin. As always, it was his eyes that drew her in. Beautiful blue eyes so deep she felt she were drowning in them. And yet that was untrue, because they also kept her afloat. Even when they were narrowed and directed at someone, as they were now.

The target of Elliot's glare was Bradshaw, who had hurried in at half-past eight to hear the debriefing. He was quite deliberately avoiding Elliot's gaze and attempting to strike up a conversation with Olivia. She was not very forthcoming, however, preferring to set her mind to the much more important task of figuring out how she could achieve the impossible and turn nothing into something. Laughing softly, she listened to the song that ran through her head. _"Nothing comes from nothing. Nothing ever could…"_ Clearly, Julie Andrews was smarter than her, which didn't do much for her self-esteem.

Her phone rang.

"Special Victims Unit," she said authoritatively. "Detective Benson."

_« Vous __ê__tes l'inspecteur qui a donnez-moi ce numéro de téléphone ? » _

Olivia frowned. Who had she given her telephone number to that spoke French like a native? _"Madame,"_ she said clearly, _"parlez-vous l'anglais?"_ Do you speak English?

_« Non! Je ne comprends pas l'anglais. Je parle le français, inspecteur. __Est-ce que vous comprend ? » _ No! I don't understand English. I speak French, Detective, do you understand?

With an inaudible sigh, Olivia resigned herself to speaking French. The woman knew what she wanted; that was certain. _« Oui, madame. __Je m'appelle Olivia. Et vous? »_

_« Je m'appelle Elise Siméon. »_

_« S'il vous plait, est-ce que vous pouvez aller à mon office ? J'ai des questionnes pour vous. »_ Could you come to my office? I have a few questions for you.

_« Euh… »_

_« S'il vous plait, madame ? C'est très important. »_ It's very important.

_« D'accord. Au revoir. »_ Okay. Goodbye.

Olivia hung up the phone and registered how quiet the squad room had become. She glanced around. Everyone's eyes were on her. She switched off the French in her brain and asked in English, "What?" she demanded. "Is there a problem?"

"No problem," Elliot assured her, looking slightly shell-shocked. "Just, uh, never heard you speak French before."

She frowned. "You've heard…French before, though, right?"

"Yeah, of course," confirmed her partner. "There was one case a few years ago, where Dani used French to get a victim to…talk…" He stopped, realizing what he'd said, and that Olivia was staring at him with a suddenly cold expression.

"Oh. _Dani_ spoke French, did she?" Unconsciously, her hackles had risen, and she was suddenly ready to tear his head off. And then she cursed herself, because she realized that he had not known until now, just how furious the name of his former, _temporary_ partner made her. Now that he knew, and apparently had inferred why it angered her, he had found another one of her buttons to push. And push it he would.

He smirked slightly. "Yes, Dani spoke French." And then, with everyone watching them with bated breath, he did something totally unexpected. "However," he said, "my kids never invited Dani to a Thanksgiving celebration later this week." Not a sound could be heard in the squad room. The gossipers held their phones, waiting to mass-text this new development.

"Liv, my children would like you to celebrate Thanksgiving with us, if you want." Elliot watched her carefully, waiting for her response.

Olivia was momentarily stunned. Never in eleven years had her partner actually asked her to a family event. She had visited him a few times over the years, but he had always been very determined to keep his work and home lives separate, and Olivia did not fit into that equation. No matter what her dreams might say. Floundering in uncharted waters, she chanced, "I wouldn't want to impose. Thanksgiving is supposed to be family time."

His answer was quick. "Family extends to godmothers this year."

Oh, right. She was Eli's godmother. Wordlessly, her eyes darted around the precinct. This motion, which took less than a second, was unnoticeable by anyone but Elliot, who said with his eyes, _I know. Trust me._

Of course she trusted him. It would have been harder not to. "I'd love to, El," she said. There was a collective gasp, and ten phones beeped at once. _"OMG, guess what? Stabler asked Benson to Thanksgiving dinner! & she's going!"_ That was what they would say. Olivia rolled her eyes, reminding herself once again that she trusted him. And she was finding it increasingly difficult to remain angry with him. She was still displeased and hurt by his decision to use her affection for him against her, but something in her heart refused to allow her anger to continue. It seemed as though the novelty of having such control over her had worn off, anyway. He hadn't threatened her with it in…quite a while.

Ten cell phones beeped in response, signaling the start of the gossip chain. Annoyed, she swiveled in her chair, breaking her eye contact with Elliot. "Do you guys have nothing better to do?" she demanded. "Really? The novelty hasn't worn off yet?" For eleven years, that was all she heard. _Are you secretly dating Elliot Stabler?_ The brass hounded them, waiting for the opportunity to pounce, and every NYPD gossip chain was abuzz if they so much as walked in at the same time one morning. Honestly? Were all people that shallow?

Ten guilty pairs of eyes avoided hers. One brave soul piped up, "It won't wear off until you admit it's true!"

Everything went still. The shouter shrank where she stood. Olivia stood, very deliberately, and walked over to her. "Badass Benson has been unleashed," someone muttered.

Olivia bent down so that her face was level with her accuser. "It's not. Get used to disappointment," she hissed with venom and abruptly stalked away.

"Badass Benson and the Un-Stabler," murmured someone else. "What a pair."

Cragen promptly dismissed at least fifteen people from his sights, telling them to get lost if they knew what was good for them. The crowd scattered, and the captain found it safe to look at Elliot. Though his detective was not red, he was clearly very uncomfortable and embarrassed. He was also rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. It was clear to Cragen that Elliot wanted to find Olivia. Their eyes locked.

"Captain," said Elliot quickly, "I swear to you… It's not… We're not…" But his mind simply didn't seem capable of forming the words. The thought of cheating on Kathy was ridiculous to him, even if he had entertained the far-fetched idea of Olivia and him someday…

No, he had thought of it, imagined it, dreamed about it countless times, but he knew it would never happen. First of all, he was married, with children, and though he had long ago come to terms with the existence of the love he felt for his partner, he knew he could never act on it unless he and Kathy got divorced again. Which, now he thought about it, might very well happen. His wife had put up a vehement fight with Lizzie, Maureen, and Kathleen when they suggested inviting Olivia to dinner, and Elliot suspected that she, too, had the feeling that their marriage was coming apart at the seams. However, unlike him, Kathy had decided that Olivia was part of the problem and so did not want her around her husband any more than was necessary.

And now, pride and love still coursing through his veins from her outburst, Elliot couldn't have agreed more.

Cragen decided after a moment's thought that he would not make his detective finish the sentence. "I know," he said. "Now, go find your partner and bring her back here. I want to know who she was on the phone with."

Needing no further encouragement, Elliot made his hasty way out of the squad room.

* * *

**Sorry if it's a little under-dramatic, guys. If I'd gone on any longer, I would have been forced to split it anyway, so… yeah. Oh, and about the French part: yes, I just had to add French at some point. If you speak French better than me, and I made some error, please tell me. If I did, I apologize!**

**In honor of the Saints winning the Super Bowl, I'd request a donut as a review, please!!!**


	7. Gracious

***pokes head up from garden pond* Uh… Hello, everybody. Remember me? No? Oh. Well, I guess I can't blame you. I've been gone for ages. My apologies are getting redundant, I'm sure. So, assuming that you all know how terribly sorry I am, let me move on. I haven't really thought about this until just recently, but it seems a horrible oversight in retrospect. I sincerely hope I'm not offending anyone with this story. I know I'm dealing with racial differences, and I realize this can be a touchy subject for some, so let me say it now.**

**Disclaimer: I mean absolutely no offense to any specific person, nor am I attempting/intending to be racist, sexist, or anything else that may or may not come up in this story. Hopefully, nothing in this story has been offensive to anyone. If I have offended anyone, it was unintentional, and I am truly sorry. Also, all publicly recognizable SVU characters are the property of Dick Wolf.**

* * *

**Hospital Room of Olivia Benson – January 31**

"_You ready?" Elliot asked from his desk._

_Olivia nodded, doing her best to keep the excitement off her face. Smiling, she bookmarked the research she had been doing on FBI Agent Jeremiah Thatcher, the man who had beaten his wife Eleanor since out of the police academy. His undercover operation had been classified as "top secret", and they were not, under _any_ circumstances, allowed to extract him. So, she had resorted to the internet, seeking out information on the man's past. When he came back and started looking for Eleanor, she would catch him, and she would know everything about him._

_Tonight, though, someone had granted her a reprieve. It had been wonderful luck that Munch and Fin were working over Thanksgiving, because she was able to celebrate it with Elliot and his family. The Thorton-Blackhurst case was ongoing, but Olivia and Elliot had actually been ordered to take Thanksgiving off, since they had been working nonstop ever since their second victim was found. Both had taken to sleeping at the precinct. And still there were no new leads. The two bodies had shown up with absolutely no evidence on them, unless one was to count the massive amount of blood and the chains with no prints. There had been no semen, and not even a sign that he had used a condom. On the contrary, Melinda had found, to their shared disgust, traces of soap. He had washed them. Many times, the detectives had begged Alex Cabot for an arrest warrant to get Delonte Kingsley off the streets, but none of what they had could be tied conclusively to him. The links were shaky, and Alex did not think a judge would accept it._

_She felt his eyes following her as she swung her coat over her shoulders. He had been staring at her all day, making it terribly difficult to get any work done, but she hadn't wanted to call him on it. So the staring continued._

_They left, wishing Munch and Fin a Happy Thanksgiving, and drove in near silence to Queens._

"_Hello, Olivia," said Kathy in what could have been considered a cordial tone. Her hard blue eyes ruined the effect._

_Olivia replied in turn, keeping her voice civil. Whatever had been going on between husband and wife recently was none of her business. Kathy had been kind enough to let her join the clan for this holiday. She was going to stick with the trend and be thankful for that._

"_Liv!" Lizzie came barreling out of the living room and pulled her into a hug. "I missed you!"_

_Returning the embrace, Olivia took a look at the girl. She was older now, seventeen, but somehow she still retained that childlike innocence that had all but vanished from her brother's face. Such positivity did not mean she was naïve, rather that she chose to see past the hardships to the sunlit horizon, and Olivia admired her for that. It wasn't something she saw very often._

"_I missed you too, Lizzie. How have you been?" Olivia let the young woman lead her into the living room, where Dickie – no, now he was Rick – was sprawled across the couch. A huge grin spread across his face at the sight of her, and she greeted him._

"_Scoot," ordered Lizzie, sitting down next to him and pulling Olivia down beside her._

"_Hey, Liv," Maureen said from the armchair to the left. She got up, gave Olivia a hug, and sat back down. Kathleen looked up and smiled, which Olivia hoped meant a sign of friendship. Things between her and the second-eldest Stabler daughter had been strained since the divorce, but Kathleen's assistance in the matter of Kim Garnet had improved their relationship. The jury was still out on whether or not their interactions would stay that way._

_The four Stabler children soon became enraptured with the game, Oakland Raiders versus Dallas Cowboys, and Olivia was left to entertain Eli, who was settled on his blanket. Surrounded by toys, the child laughed when Olivia picked up the dinosaur and started an imaginary fight between reptile and human child. Elliot sat down beside her, took another dinosaur, and engaged Olivia in battle for the entertainment of his youngest son._

"_Chris Daughtry!" Lizzie exclaimed. "Don't change the channel, Rick, I want to hear him sing!"_

_The first song's haunting lyrics pounded through the room. _"Now that it's all said and done, I can't believe you were the one to build me up and tear me down like an old abandoned house. What you said when you left just left me cold and out of breath. I felt as if I was in way too deep. Guess I let you get the best of me…."

_Olivia turned to the TV screen and Elliot's Stegosaurus took advantage of her distraction to tackle her Tyrannosaurus Rex to the blanket. Eli squealed. Frowning, Olivia tore her eyes from the TV and glared at her partner and his smug smirk. She glanced at Eli, who was waiting expectantly for his T-Rex to attack. Well, she wasn't about to disappoint him._

"Well, I never saw it coming and I should have started running a long, long time ago. And I never thought to doubt you. I'm better off without you more than you, more than you know. I'm slowly getting closure. I guess it's really over. I'm finally getting better. Now I'm picking up the pieces, spending all of these years pulling my heart back together. 'Cause the day I thought I'd never get through, I got over you."

"_Rawr!" Eli cried. "Rawr, rawr, rawr!" Olivia laughed. Her dinosaur had pounced on Elliot's and was now proceeding to eat it._

"_Grr…" she chuckled, poking Eli in the stomach. She looked up for a moment, and Elliot was staring at her. Again. His eyes were fixed on her and his son, and Olivia immediately shrank away from the child. Was Elliot angry at her for being so comfortable around his son? Did he not like her around the baby? "S-sorry," she stammered. Her fingers released the dinosaur. She scooted farther back, certain she was blushing._

_Chris Daughtry's song had changed. _"What about now? What about today? What if you're making me all that I was meant to be? What if our love never went away? What if it's lost behind words we could never find? Baby, before it's too late, what about now?"

"_Don't be sorry," Elliot whispered. Having no clue what had just transpired, Olivia cautiously picked up the plastic animal again and stood it carefully beside Eli. Elliot picked up his son. "You want to hold him?" he asked._

_Consent must have been written all over her face, for he gently handed her Eli. His hands brushed along her arms as he withdrew, and she shuddered at his touch. Bouncing the little one in her lap, she looked up again, past Elliot, to Kathy. The woman's blue eyes were icy as she stared at their interactions. Shoulders hunched, Olivia returned her attention to Eli, laughing softly and tickling him. The toddler giggled and squealed, reaching out for his daddy to save him. Elliot obligingly moved closer, but instead of aiding his youngest child, he helped Olivia tickle him. And finally, the smile Olivia craved broke through. It shone like the sun as he, she, and Eli played to the tune of a pop artist._

"It's no surprise I won't be here tomorrow. I can't believe that I stayed 'till today. There's nothing here in this heart left to borrow. There's nothing here in this soul left to say. Don't be surprised when we hate this tomorrow. God knows, we've tried to find an easier way. And you and I will be a tough act to follow, but I know, in time, we'll find this was no surprise… If I could see the future and how this plays out, I bet it's better than where we are now. But after going through this, it's easier to see the reason why."

* * *

**Stabler Residence – Friday, November 24**

Not entirely sure what had woken him, Elliot lay still for a moment and listened to the storm outside. Last night, after everyone had eaten and drank and laughed and played themselves into exhaustion, it had started pouring down rain. Lizzie had asked Olivia to stay the night, and the request was quickly seconded by her siblings. Olivia, of course, had deferred to Kathy, who glared at her for a few moments before giving in to her children's pleas. Lizzie had then suggested that, since Olivia was sleeping over, they all have a real sleepover and spend the night in the living room. Again Kathy had protested, but Maureen pointed out that _she_ didn't have to sleep on the floor.

This morning, the living room was full. Kathleen slept on the couch, Maureen had curled up on one chair, and Lizzie on the other. All three girls had offered Olivia something more comfortable than the floor, and all three offers had been politely declined. Rick was sprawled on the floor beside his twin's chair. His mouth hung open, and he snored softly.

A faint moan reached his ears, and he turned his gaze to the woman beside him. Olivia rolled over in her sleep, closer to him, and sighed. The sleeping bag rustled at the movement. Elliot's eyes skimmed over his beautiful partner. Her brown hair was messy and tangled, and the shirt and pants that Kathy had reluctantly lent her to sleep in were scrunched up and twisted, a testament to what Elliot already knew. Olivia was not an easy sleeper.

_Bee-bee-beep! Bee-bee-beep! Bee-bee-beep!_

"Stabler." Elliot spoke quietly into the phone, hoping his children would stay asleep. "Captain?" He sat up in his sleeping bag. Eli, beside him, opened his eyes. He blinked up at his daddy twice, looked over to his other side, curled up against Olivia, and went back to sleep. Elliot's eyes widened, and he almost missed what Cragen was telling him. "Madison Square? Okay, we'll be there." He watched Olivia smile in her sleep as Eli scooted closer. "No, sir, don't call her. We'll be there." He hung up the phone and contemplated his task.

At loath to wake Olivia when she looked so adorable, he leaned against the wall and firmly implanted the scene in his memory. Once this was done, he reached over. He meant to shake her shoulder, but somehow his hand found her cheek instead. His thumb traced her cheekbone for a moment before quickly relocating to her shoulder. She was stirring, moaning quietly as she struggled in the void between sleep and awake.

"Liv, wake up," Elliot whispered, shaking her. "Come on, we have to go."

"Unnh…" Sleepy brown eyes met his as Olivia blinked the dreams from her vision. "El? What…" She hid a yawn behind her hand. "What time is it?"

Elliot took his hand away. "Five thirty," he answered. "Cragen just called. Guess what day it is."

"Huh?" She wasn't quite awake yet, but she was aware enough to know what he was talking about. "Oh, God, it's been five days." She dragged her fingers through her hair in an effort to look more presentable and gently picked up little Eli.

"Put him in his playpen; he's still sleeping," Elliot advised.

Having done that, Olivia reached for her clothes from yesterday. "I'll be back in a second," she said before disappearing into the bathroom. Elliot wondered what his wife would say if he told her that Olivia looked more beautiful in a ratty T-shirt and flannel pants than Kathy did in a cocktail dress.

**Madison Square Park – Friday, November 25**

"Good morning, you two. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I see."

Olivia rolled her eyes at the medical examiner. "If you say so. What've we got?"

Melinda smiled a little sadly from underneath a large umbrella and pulled back the sheet to reveal their latest victim. It was a woman this time. The rain had washed all the blood away, allowing them an unhindered view of a pretty, white woman with brown hair and tanned skin. Her once-white shirt was now colored an ugly orange-red color, which showed just how much blood there had been at one point. A rusty, wet chain circled around her neck. On either end were shackles, pulling her hands up to her collarbone.

Quickly, Elliot readjusted his and Olivia's shared umbrella so that it covered the woman's face as well. This action unfortunately left Olivia out in the rain, and she had to shift closer to her partner to remain dry. His eyes met hers in an apology, but she felt herself being sucked into the unending depths of their blue, so she broke the gaze. She averted her eyes embarrassedly. He frowned but decided to let it go, instead addressing Melinda. "What can you give us?" he asked.

"Well, the rain washed most of the blood away," Melinda said, "and messed with her body temperature. However, I can say that she hasn't been dead that long. My guess? Time of death was around one this morning. Cause of death was most likely blunt force trauma to the head, and the cuts on her chest were inflicted post-mortem." Standing and recovering the body, she sighed. "I'll know more after autopsy, but your killer left you a present." She pointed to a piece of white that lay beside the woman.

Elliot handed the umbrella to Olivia and picked it up. It was a piece of paper, sheathed in a waterproof covering and anchored to the ground with croquet stakes. Permanent marker had inscribed a name, Sasha Meier, and both Olivia and Elliot's names, titles, and addresses. Under the personal information, it had the words: _"The new era is no place for whites to have power. The ones you love will go first."_

Swearing explicitly, Elliot dropped the note in a passing CSU's empty evidence bag. Olivia just stood there, stunned.

"How does he know where we live?" she asked in a faint voice. And then her eyes widened. "Oh, God, El. Kathy and the kids!"

She was apparently a little slow on the uptake, because Elliot already had his cell phone to his ear. He was whisper-yelling to Kathy, telling her to get out of the house. Olivia heard him say something about Kathy's mother's place.

"No, El, not there," she protested. "If he found your address, it's a short next step to finding hers." Her partner groaned in frustration and fear. "Tell her to come to the precinct," Olivia suggested. "I'm sure the NYPD has seized something over the years that they're not using."

Elliot looked at her, his blue eyes dark with anger and worry. He gave her a curt nod and relayed the information to his wife. He could hear her over the phone, hurrying the kids along. After a brief conversation with Maureen and Kathleen, ordering them both not to go back to their dorm rooms, he hung up the phone. Turning his eyes on his partner, he said, "What are you going to do?"

She shrugged, quelling the fear in her heart. "I'll call Simon – Lucy has a sister in Missouri they can stay with – and then I'll sleep at the precinct," she said. "What else?" Her own relocation was more to end the conversation than anything else, but she realized she probably would anyway. When he didn't answer, she turned to Melinda, thanking her, and they left.

*** * ***

**16****th**** Precinct Crib – Saturday, November 26**

It was about four in the morning, and Elliot couldn't sleep.

Upon their arrival at the precinct yesterday, his wife and children had been the main concern of the squad. Where would they stay? What would they do for work? How would the kids attend school? Various questions to that effect had been posed, discussed, and answered so quickly that Lizzie had given up trying to make sense of it and distracted herself with her baby brother. It had eventually been decided that Kathy, Lizzie, Rick, and Eli would stay at a safe house in Brooklyn. Both teenagers had laptops and would Skype into their classrooms so they would not miss lectures or homework assignments. Any exams would be administered over the webcam and overseen by Kathy, so there would be no cheating. Maureen and Kathleen would continue to attend their classes.

It had also been decided that Elliot would not live at the safe house. His frequent trips to and from the precinct made it unpleasantly easy to follow him. Olivia had suggested getting an apartment for him, but Elliot had vetoed that idea. Neither he nor anyone else wanted her alone in the precinct, with only the night guards for company. So, he would stay at the precinct with her. Olivia had vehemently protested her need for a babysitter, but she had been overruled. Cragen had made her feel a little better by reminding her that she and Elliot were both under threat, and therefore they were both looking out for each other.

Elliot glanced over at his partner. Her back was to him, and he indulged himself for a moment in studying her silhouette. The thin blanket was not exactly flattering, but that was not its purpose, and Elliot could still see the rise of her hip arch down to her waist and slowly travel up her side until it hit her shoulder.

She looked peaceful in sleep. The blanket rose and fell with her slow, measured breaths, which were so soft that Elliot had to strain his ears to hear them. It was good she was getting some sleep, because she most certainly needed it. After Kathy and the kids had left, they had gotten down to it. The question of the day centered around how their mystery perp had found their addresses. The fact that he had added specifications to their names like "Senior Detective" and "First-Grade" implied that he had not just looked in a phone book or something similar.

So, they had been at somewhat of a loss. They could not investigate every single person who had access to their information, but CSU had proved themselves useful. Ryan O'Halloran's replacement, a good-natured young man by the name of Henry Dunlap, had shown up at half past noon with a partial fingerprint that matched the same FBI agent that Eleanor Thatcher accused of being abusive. Jeremiah Thatcher.

Once again, their attempts to pick apart the FBI's defenses were fruitless. According to the case agent, Jeremiah had successfully completed his assignment and should have been at home. According to Eleanor, who was still at the shelter, he had not contacted her. However, she did say that her husband had, of late, started ranting about black power and giving African Americans a chance to be the "top dogs" for once. Had he, to her knowledge, had any contact with Delonte Kingsley? No.

Cragen had instructed them to put Kingsley on the back burner and consider other suspects. They had a team out looking for Jeremiah, and the FBI had promised to seek him as well.

Melinda had sent over her autopsy report. Their latest victim had died from having her head bashed against a concrete wall. She had amassed an obscene amount of bruises and other injuries pre-mortem, and she had been raped. Again, the poor woman had been cleaned of all trace evidence from that. Somehow, though, foreign substances had been found in her post-mortem cuts. The lab was attempting to determine what they were. Hopefully, their results would come tomorrow. Melinda had found something else, too. Elliot wasn't entirely sure what to think about…

"Elliot?" Olivia's voice came out of nowhere, interrupting his train of thought. "Can't you sleep?"

Elliot didn't even bother to wonder how she knew he had not been asleep. She just knew these things. "Nope," he answered.

She came up on her elbow and faced him. The alertness in her brown eyes told him that, contrary to popular belief, she had not been in dreamland either. "Worrying about Kathy and the kids?"

"No… Well, yes, but that wasn't what I was thinking about." Elliot wondered if he could be considered a bad husband and father for not being awake because he was worried about his family.

Olivia offered him a half-smile, stood, and sat down on the edge of his bed. He scooted over to make room for her. She folded her long legs under the frame. "The case then?" she guessed. When he nodded, she smiled for real. "Melinda dropped a real bombshell, didn't she?"

Her partner nodded. "Yeah. So far, we've got two co-conspirators, Thatcher and Jane Doe, and both are in the wind. What luck." He eyed Olivia for a moment and said, "You think there's another guy." It was not a question, it was a statement, but Olivia answered it anyway.

"Yes, I do. First of all, Thatcher was on his assignment during the Blackhurst murder. There's no way he gave his case agent the slip for three days. Second of all, even if I believed any woman _could_ do such things to another woman as was done to Kira Thorton, she couldn't have raped her the way she was." There was a pause, while her brown eyes pierced Elliot's blue ones, and then she commented, "You think there's another guy, too."

He chuckled. "Yes, I do, for the same reasons as you. But I want to know why Jane Doe's blood was on Sasha's jeans." The third name on the message at the crime scene was Sasha Meier, the name of their third victim.

"I don't know…" Olivia bit her lip, clearly revolted by the idea of a woman being involved in such torture. "Something tells me we're not dealing with an organized group like the white supremacists. Nothing like this has surfaced before, and I would expect a different kind of attack. These look like each murder was personal. My guess is that there are just a few people involved at the moment. But it could be getting bigger."

"They could be recruiting new people," Elliot interrupted. "Jane Doe could be a fledgling member of the group, and that was some sort of initiation."

Olivia nodded in agreement and then jumped off the bed as Elliot shivered. "It's cold here, at night," she supplied, to which he responded with a roll of his eyes. She snagged the blanket from her bed and draped it over him. "Better?" she asked.

"Olivia, take the blanket back," ordered Elliot, shoving it off him. "You'll freeze."

"So will you," she retorted, readjusting the fleece. When he tried again to remove it, she put her hands on either side of him and held the blanket down. "Better that one of us is warm than neither of us," she insisted and then met his eyes. She had not realized until now just how close her movements had brought them together.

Elliot's breath was hot on her face as he whispered, "You're going to have to stay there all night, Liv, because I'm not taking that blanket." Olivia's arms trembled.

"Damn it, Stabler," she murmured back. "I'm not staying here all night. It's uncomfortable. Lose the blanket if you want, but I'm not taking it back." She focused on giving her shaking arms enough control to push herself off the bed, but while she was doing that, Elliot lifted himself off the mattress and got right in her face.

"Get up," he suggested.

She shot up like lightning. Cursing the red hot blush on her face, she retreated to the crib wall and watched her partner search the crib for other blankets. Unfortunately, the ones that used to be present had vanished. So, with nothing else to do, he shoved her bed up against his. Olivia concentrated on not concentrating on the way his muscles rippled when he moved. Her warm face told her she was not entirely successful.

Elliot turned to her. "We can share I guess," he said.

Olivia swallowed, but she approached him anyway, slightly comforted by the fact that he seemed just as uncomfortable with this as she was. Cautiously, she slid into her side of the bed and took the half of the blankets he offered her. She turned on her side and met his eyes. Thankfully, the blankets were big enough that they were not required to be any closer. Feeling her toes begin to warm up, Olivia rested her head on her arm, gifted Elliot with a grateful smile, and let her eyes flutter shut.

* * *

**I just realized I haven't asked you guys this yet, which was kind of stupid, in retrospect. Do you prefer long chapters or short chapters? My last updates – eons ago, it seems – haven't gotten much response, and I was hoping, for the sake of pure ego, to come up with a reason besides people thinking my writing isn't any good. Does the length contribute, by any chance?**

**Does everyone like it so far? Are there some things I need to change? Some pet-peeve of yours I haven't heeded? A review is the only way I'm going to know!**

**~ally**


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